
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf . 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 








The Forestman 
of VlMPEK $ 

His Neighbors, his Doings 
and his Reflections. A Bo- 
hemian Forest Village Story 



By MADAM FLORA P. KOPTA 
Author of “ Bohemian Legends and 
Poems ” * • • • 



Boston 

Lothrop Publishing Company 


i 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 


COPYRIGHT, 
BY LOTHROP 
PUBLISHING 
COMPANY. 




Library of Con 
..Office o f the 

9 1900 

Register of Copyrights, 



«» r»* r* A 

DlKJDl 


SECOND COPY, 

Norfoooti ^r£S8 

J. 8. Cushing & Co. — Berwick & Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 

n v ^ , 


Preface 


The desire of the author will have been more 
than fulfilled if this story-sketch of the daily life 
of a Bohemian village on the edge of the forest 
shall so interest readers in the simple, toil-filled, 
unambitious existence of an honest, earnest, and 
very human community as to lead them to wish 
to know more of a much misunderstood people, 
which through years of struggle and suffering and 
hardships still holds the Bohemian name dear and 
the Bohemian fatherland in veneration. 

“ In Bohemia,” as the world understands the 
much abused phrase, means the roving, restless 
life of an adventurer in art or literature, of irreg- 
ular habits, unconventional tastes, and no morals 
to speak of. “ In Bohemia,” as the Bohemian 
knows it, is home — the dearest word in any 
language ; and, as such, “The Forestman of Vim- 
pek ” here seeks to show it to the world. 


F. P. K. 


{ 



Contents 


CHAPTER 

I. 

Wenzel the Forestman . 

• 

• 


PAGE 

7 

II. 

A Literary Triumph 

• 

• 


14 

III. 

A Wedding in our Village 




32 

IV. 

Our Village .... 




49 

V. 

Her Two Sons 




56 

VI. 

The Match-maker . 




82 

VII. 

A New Store .... 


• 


99 

VIII. 

Rosalia 


• 


1 14 

IX. 

A Saunter through our Village 


• 


125 

X. 

A Visitor to the Village . 


• 


143 

XI. 

An Afternoon at Home . 


• 


157 

XII. 

The Harvest-home Feast 


• 


170 

XIII. 

Shopping .... 




181 

XIV. 

A Night in the Forest . 




195 

XV. 

My Aunt’s Cousin . 




209 

XVI. 

“ The Death of the First-born ” 

. 

. 


218 

XVII. 

A Theatrical Performance 

. 

. 


240 


5 


6 


Contents 


CHAPTER 

XVIII. 

Revelations 

PAGE 

• 255 

XIX. 

A Visit to the Merciful Count 

. 271 

XX. 

The Broken Sword .... 

. 277 

XXI. 

A Pilgrimage to Pribram 

• 305 

XXII. 

A Summer Day 

• 336 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


CHAPTER I 

Wenzel the Forestman 

I T is even as I have told you, friend : I am no 
story-maker — only Wenzel, the forestman 
of Vimpek. Such as I am, were my fathers for 
generations — sons of the Bohemian forests and 
lovers of their fatherland. 

Even my name, Wenzel, or what you far Ameri- 
can folk would call Lawrence, is, as are all our 
laws and methods, German, which, except among 
ourselves, we talk because we must. My true 
Bohemian name is Vavrinec. It was my father’s 
name when he, as was his father, and as am I, 
his son, even as I have told you, forestman to the 
quality, the merciful Counts of Vimpek. 

Alas ! the merciful counts are, to-day, counts 
but in name. Long years ago, rank, titles, honors, 
even their time-worn and often overthrown castles, 
fell away from them in the terrible battles of those 
7 


8 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


wars when Hussite and Catholic fought for the 
mastery of our forests and our fields. 

Ruins ! yes, I believe you ; we have them in 
plenty. There are, so Prokop the shoemaker tells 
me, eight hundred such ruined castles in Bohemia, 
and each one, so he says, has an even more tragic 
history than our own modest little castle of 
Vimpek, which you, yesterday, called but a farm- 
house. It is, indeed, like a farmhouse, friend, 
because, long since, its towers and walls were 
again and again thrown down ; but, look you, 
those lower walls are still, as in the old days, thick 
enough and strong enough to withstand a siege, 
unless, indeed, you might batter them down with 
one of these mighty war-guns of to-day, of which 
you tell me. 

Yes, my fathers were forestmen to the quality, 
the merciful Counts of Vimpek ; they were inspec- 
tors of woodlands and stewards of the trees in 
Sumava, that part of our fatherland which you 
would call the Bohemian Forest. 

In this cottage of mine in the forest my fathers 
lived. Here, in this cottage, I was born, and here, 
God willing, I will die, surrounded by the great 
forest that has been my world these forty years. 

Ah! the mighty trees that we have cut and 
sent floating on their downward way to Hamburg 


Wenzel the Forestman 


9 


to build the ships that sail all about the world. 
Ah ! the lads and lassies I have seen leave our 
forest and our village, and, like the great trees, 
float off into the ocean of the world. Where are 
they all to-day ? Do they ever think, I wonder, of 
this old forest of their childhood, dark even in 
summer ? Perhaps their summers, too, have been 
as dark. Do they ever recall the many tales, 
those legends of the forestland, that used to make 
them cross themselves for protection as they hur- 
ried past some fatal or haunted place ? 

As for me, ever since I could remember at all, 
I have remembered the branches of my forest 
waving above me, and the sweet smell of the pines 
and firs, burnt out of them by the sun. As a boy, 
I sat and watched the great ant-hills alive with 
their busy people ; as a man, I have waged con- 
stant war with Jacob, as I find him wandering in 
the forest, sack on shoulder and hoe in hand ; for 
Jacob, so you must know, instead of working like 
the rest of us, digs up ants’ eggs and sells them 
in the town to the old ladies who keep birds. 
Jacob, too, steals my best mushrooms very early in 
the morning, before I am up. So I have to keep 
an eye on Jacob. 

I know all the dangerous places in the forest — 
such a one as where the moss grows greenest, but 


io The Forestman of Vimpek 

upon which, if one but step, he sinks and is lost in 
the morass. And I know, too, all the hundreds of 
narrow paths and by-paths that lead through or 
out from our own forest to those of other towns 
and villages and merciful counts. Let other peo- 
ple wander all over the world as they choose, I am 
still content with my forest, — with the beautiful 
glory of the summer when the ground is covered 
with partridge berries and wild strawberries and 
dozens of other woodland plants and flowers ; with 
the sadness of early autumn when the leaves 
begin to fall and the fading flowers are almost 
hidden by the heaps of dead leaves ; with the ter- 
rible beauty of the long winter, when the trees are 
all asleep, covered with their thick blankets of 
snow or hung with icicles that gleam like diamonds 
in the sun, or even when the wind, like some 
wrathful fiend, rages in awful storms, and stout 
trees are snapped and broken like twigs. Yes, to 
me, my forest is beautiful and full of interest, what- 
ever the season and wherever the sun may ride. 

I live alone in my cottage in the forest, with a 
dear old aunt, a pointer pup, and two cats. But 
almost every day or two I like to go down to our 
village for gossip or for news, or perhaps to bring 
something needed in our cottage by my aunt or by 
myself. 


Wenzel the Forestman 


ii 


Our village is on the edge of the forest; like 
many another near the Bavarian boundary it has, 
you may say, a hundred cottages ; some are clus- 
tered together near the church and schoolhouse, 
some straggle off by themselves up and down the 
road, or away from it quite beyond the pfarrer’s 
house, where many go for advice ; for the pfarrer 
is what you would call, I suppose, our village 
priest or pastor. 

There are no stores in our village, or what you 
may think of as stores ; but there is a smith and a 
shoemaker and a tailor, so, you see, we have all a 
man can need ; for our villagers are either farmers 
or workers in the forest, where they cut wood all 
the year round or makes things of wood when, in 
the winter, the cold and snow keep them close at 
home. Many wooden shoes are made in our for- 
est, though our own people do not wear them. 
They wear what we call “nejschle” — that is 
shoes made with wooden soles and leather toe-tips. 
No wooden shoes for us ! 

Our cottages — if you would call them cottages 
— are, as you see, built partly of stone with long 
beams of wood, and they are thatched with straw or 
shingles. True, we have a few farmers who have 
red tiles on their roofs, but they are almost “ qual- 
ity.” Most of us, however, are poor indeed, and 


12 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


get our living, ever, from the forest that so nearly 
covers up our village, where, still, we do not for- 
get to keep up the good old Bohemian customs. 

In the winter every one is at home, making 
wooden shoes and shovels, rakes, or other wares of 
wood, or, perhaps, weaving for the children cradles 
and carriages, or the useful willow baskets. But 
when the spring comes, and the snow melts on the 
mountains, and the grass begins to shoot up and 
the birds to sing, then most of our able-bodied 
men go away to find work over the borders ; even 
into Austria and Germany they go, leaving behind 
them the women and children, and the old men to 
care for the fields, or for the cow and the goat. Few 
strangers ever disturb our mountain and forest 
solitude, for we live hidden from the world, as you 
see, in a region almost unknown to tourists and 
travellers. Our people still use the dear old 
Bohemian speech, and wear homespun suits of 
undyed sheep’s wool and cotton ; in the winter 
they pull their woollen stockings outside their 
trousers’ legs to keep out the cold and snow ; but 
in the summer they walk about in “nejschls.” 

Little news of the outside world ever reaches 
our silent valley. Newspapers and books are 
scarce, and the readers are limited to a few people. 
The pfarrer, the schoolmaster, and Prokop Farka 


Wenzel the Forestman 


*3 


the shoemaker represent the learned mind among 
us ; but it is still remembered in every cottage that 
Barbara Mlejnek, the wife of Farmer Mlejnek, on 
the hill road yonder, subscribed regularly to the 
Agriculturist , not so very long ago, and once won 
what the pfarrer called a great literary triumph. 

Did you never hear of Barbara Mlejnek in 
America ? Then let me tell you about her, for a 
story worth telling she truly had. 


CHAPTER II 


A Literary Triumph 

I T was a pleasant place to look at — the home 
of Farmer Mlejnek; an old Bohemian farm- 
house, with its tiny windows incased in green hop- 
vines. The small strip of garden before the 
house had also about it a cheerful, though unusual 
look. For there, beside its old-time flowers, 

pinks, sweet-williams, and a pot of the much- 
prized myrtle, you might see a few scarlet gera- 
niums, and, wonder of wonders ! little monthly 
roses, scattered between the salads and cucum- 
bers, the onions and beets, that make up the 
kitchen garden of a Bohemian farmer. 

Whenever I went inside I was always struck 
with the unusual look even of the common 
things within the home. True, there was the big 
green-tiled oven, the white pine table, and the 
wooden chairs that one meets everywhere. Near 
the door were nailed the crucifix carved in wood, 
and the bowl of holy water, formed like a little 
cross ; there, too, was the picture of our Saviour, 
14 


A Literary Triumph 


*5 


and his Blessed Mother, clad in red and blue, and 
both with yellow hearts ; that of Mary the Mother 
was pierced with arrows, but our Saviour’s heart 
had in it a deep wound that trickled blood. 

But what always seemed to me .unusual was 
to see, beside these masterworks that are to be 
bought at any market, other “works of art” 
tacked on the whitewashed walls — gaudy colored 
prints of extraordinary fruits and flowers, vege- 
tables and grain. 

In this farmhouse kitchen, one hot July after- 
noon, a woman was scrubbing a churn with cold 
water. She was of middle age and was dressed as 
the wives of Bohemian farmers usually are, in a 
dark blue linen skirt and jacket, red and white 
striped apron, and flowered handkerchief tied 
under her chin. There was nothing remarkable 
in all this, nor in the rather pale irregular face, 
with the dark blue eyes and tawny hair, so com- 
mon in Bohemia. But what was unusual was the 
look of habitual sadness in the woman’s face ; for 
a sad face is by no means common to Slavonian 
peasants, even when things are not going well with 
them, and in the harvest time it is never seen. 

She did not sing at her work as many do, but 
she scrubbed on, and finally went out and pumped 
water upon the churn until it was as cold as she 


1 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


could make it ; then she took the heavy thing down 
into the cellar, and began churning, turning the 
handle with an absent look. Even when she was 
finished, and was kneading the golden butter in a 
large tub of water, there was no such look of pleas- 
ure as peasant women generally wear when they 
are preparing anything to sell. Calmly she went 
on with her work, patting the butter into long rolls 
of about a pound each, and then placing these rolls 
in a long brown delf dish, after which she covered 
it up until she should go to market next day. 

Then she went out and fed the pigs and chick- 
ens, giving them all a liberal amount of buttermilk, 
but apparently taking very little pleasure in her 
work. After that, from where they had been dry- 
ing on a line, she carried in a lot of shirts of all 
sizes and colors, and began to fold and sprinkle 
them, ready to iron. 

Before she had quite finished, a strapping lad 
and a buxom girl came in, and, without speaking, 
went to the brown delf jug ; the lad took it first, 
and drank a long draught ; then, wiping his mouth 
with his hand, he handed it to his sister. 

“ That was a thirst, little mother ! ” he said ; “ the 
dust lies inch-thick on the roads.” 

“I suppose it does, Peter; and is the rye all 
cut?” 


A Literary Triumph 


*7 

“ Not yet, but they will finish it to-day. Annie 
and I are to cut the clover for the cows,” and they 
both went out of the kitchen. 

The woman did not raise her eyes, but went on 
diligently ironing the clothes. When they were 
finished, and the sun was going down, she opened 
the front door, and, taking an old battered tin wat- 
ering pot, went out to water the vegetables and 
flowers. Every now and then she straightened her 
bent back, and looked over the low fence into the 
village ; there was nothing to be seen, however, 
save the cows coming home, and the tow-headed 
children playing by the road. She wearily went 
back through the kitchen to the pump for more 
water. The ducks and geese had come home, in 
the meanwhile, and she pumped the trough full, 
so that they might drink, while she counted them. 

While she was thus occupied, a man in dusty 
clothes, with an old leather bag slung over his 
shoulder, came up to her. 

“Good afternoon, mistress mother,” he said. 
“ Here is your paper.” He handed her a long thin 
pamphlet. People thought Farmer Mlejnek rather 
soft that he should take a paper ; but then his wife, 
poor thing, they remembered, had been a teacher’s 
daughter. 

The woman went into the house for the kreuzer, 


c 


1 8 The Forestman of Vimpek 


as Bohemian peasants never carry money about 
them, and one has to pay a kreuzer to the postman 
for every letter or paper. When he had gone away, 
she took the pamphlet into the kitchen and opened 
it slowly. Her fingers were stiff and hard with 
work, but there was a real tenderness in the way 
she smoothed out the paper, cover and pages. The 
first page had a gaudy print of summer flowers. 
She looked at it long, and with evident admiration ; 
then she slowly read the titles of the articles : 
“ The Cultivation of the Strawberry in Bohemia f 
“A New Variety of Pigs ,” “Remarks on Harvest 
Work ,” by an “ Eminent Agriculturist,” and so on. 
Lastly there was, in the Woman’s Department : 
“ The Best Way to make Cabbage Soup,” “ How to 
darn Homemade Linen.” Then followed a notice 
that the prize for “ The best way to make butter ” 
had not yet been awarded, but that “the name 
would be published in the next number, and the 
prize of twenty florins forwarded to the successful 
candidate.” 

The crack of a whip was heard, and the far- 
mer’s wife, with a hurried look at the clock, hid the 
pamphlet carefully at the bottom of a drawer, and 
went out to help her son and daughter feed the 
cows. She had seen them near the house with the 
cart-load of clover, and there would hardly be time 


A Literary Triumph 


l 9 


to feed and milk the cows before the men came 
home for supper. When the cows were fed and 
milked she returned to the house and cooked the 
sour milk soup, and placed the brown delf dishes 
on the table, with the tin spoons. 

Hardly had she finished, when her husband and 
the men came home. They were tawny-haired 
and blue-eyed, tall and stalwart, like most Bohe- 
mians, and, in spite of the heat, they ate their soup 
and rye bread with relish. Then a troop of chil- 
dren came in, four, besides the lad and girl who 
had been sent for the clover. The mother filled 
their plates with the sour soup, and cut for them 
large slices from the black rye bread. They 
crossed themselves and ate in silence, too tired to 
talk much ; then, after washing themselves at the 
pump, and crossing themselves devoutly before the 
crucifix, they went to bed. 

It was scarcely three o’clock in the morning 
when the farmer’s wife got up, to again cook the 
soup, and help her daughter milk the cows, feed 
the pigs and other live stock. Then the children 
had to be looked after, and provided with bread ; 
those who were too little to work went to school ; 
but the others went off to herd the sheep and 
geese, while the oldest ones went to the rye field 
with their father. 


20 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


Then there was a little peace, and the farmer’s 
wife sat down wearily on a hard bench, and stared 
stupidly out of the window. All at once a look of 
pleasure came into her face, and she went to the 
drawer and took out the magazine. She spread 
the leaves open on the pine table, and began to 
read eagerly about the strawberries ; she became 
so absorbed in her reading that when the clock 
struck she started guiltily, and, putting the book 
away with a sigh, she began to knead into bread the 
black rye dough that she had set in the morning. 

Farmer Mlejnek’s wife was the only child of a 
poor village schoolmaster. Her father had lived till 
she was nearly fourteen years old, then, after a few 
months’ illness, he died. It had been the dream 
of his life to let Barbara study so that she could 
some day also be a teacher, and with that object 
he had taught her well and thoroughly, the more 
that the girl was diligent and thoughtful beyond 
her years, and devoted to her reading. His early 
death had made all that impossible. Barbara and her 
mother went to live with her grandfather, who was 
a well-to-do farmer, and had been opposed to his 
daughter’s marriage with the teacher. Work, ever- 
lasting work, had been her portion since then, and 
she had labored well and patiently, but with a 
fierce struggle in her heart. When she was eigh- 


A Literary Triumph 


21 


teen her mother and grandfather married her, 
making all the arrangements, as is usual. The 
grandfather was old ; he wished for a strong lad 
to help him on the farm, and the mother wanted 
to see her daughter provided for. So they pro- 
posed a stalwart youth, a neighbor’s son, and Bar- 
bara did not oppose them. She had seen the 
young man, and had even danced a few times with 
him on the saints’ days. She liked him, as well as 
any other — why not marry him ? There was very 
little love on either side : he wanted a wife, and to 
marry “ into a farm,” as it is called over here ; her 
grandfather wanted a strong lad with a little 
money. What could be more satisfactory ? The 
relations settled it among themselves, and at eigh- 
teen Barbara was married with all the pomp and 
clatter that attends such ceremonies in Bohemia. 
Since then they had all lived together as well as 
most people in their class of life generally do. 
The children came apace ; then the grandfather 
died ; a few years after Barbara’s mother followed 
him ; then more children were born, and the 
mother had still more to do. But somehow, in 
spite of her humdrum experiences, she managed 
to keep up with the world in some things, and she 
was different from the other farmers’ wives in the 
village. 


22 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


She did not care to go gossiping on Sunday after- 
noon, and although she was devout in the outward 
forms, she seldom went on pilgrimages or to visit 
shrines in the neighborhood, — the chief relaxations 
and pleasures of the farmers’ wives in Catholic 
countries. Although she was friendly with every 
one, she kept herself to herself, and her neighbors, 
feeling this, said she “ thought a deal too much of 
herself, even if her father had been a teacher.” 
Altogether she was not liked, and even her hus- 
band had a dim feeling that he would have done 
better to have married a farmer’s daughter. He 
was a stupid boor of a fellow, and did not quite 
understand why it would have been better. The 
household work was well done, the kitchen was 
cleaner than those of his neighbors, so, too, were 
the children ; there was nothing to complain of : 
but still, now and then, when he sat stupidly smok- 
ing his pipe, there would cross his dull brain a 
thought of that bouncing Fanny with whom he 
had danced so many times, before he had wedded 
Barbara ; she was a widow now, and what a hand- 
some widow ! He had so little in common with his 
wife. She cared nothing for dancing on the saints’ 
days ; she preferred to sit and knit in the garden. 
And when the pfarrer had once paid them a visit, 
and almost insisted that they should subscribe to a 


A Literary Triumph 


2 3 


magazine, that one of his relations was giving out, 
she had actually seemed glad. Of course they had 
to take the paper since his reverence insisted ; all 
the world knew that. But why any one should 
appear pleased at throwing away two florins a year 
Farmer Mlejnek could not understand. 

Of course, he never looked into the thing ; read- 
ing, indeed, was not his strong point, and he had 
to look long at a word before its meaning entered 
his head ; besides that, he hated the sight of it, for 
it had robbed him of two florins that he might have 
spent in beer ; but when his wife cut out the gaudy 
prints, and nailed them about the kitchen, he felt 
some sort of satisfaction. 

When any of the neighbors admired them, he 
would say proudly : “ I am a subscriber to the 
Agriculturist ; there is no one but me in the vil- 
lage that takes it. It tells the women folks how to 
cook, and has a deal of interesting reading.” He 
always enjoyed the look of respect that his lis- 
teners cast upon him, though he never made the 
slightest effort to read a line in the magazine from 
year’s end to year’s end. The only reader of the 
paper was the farmer’s wife, and she read it in 
secret, at odd moments when no one was near. 
She knew it was a weakness, and she hid it even 
from her own children, who were strong, and had 


24 The Forestman of Vimpek 


always hated to go to school. They were none of 
them sympathetic toward her, for they took more 
after their father and the ideas of the community 
in which they lived. 

She had even done worse than read it! In a 
moment of weakness, or madness, — which it was 
that possessed her she never quite knew, — she had 
gone so far as to write an article, and send it to the 
paper. It had cost her much time and trouble. 
Even now she felt a chill run down her backbone, 
when she thought how easily she might have been 
caught. The paper had announced that the editor 
wished an article from a farmer’s wife, on ‘‘the 
best way to make butter in Bohemia” and that 
they would give twenty florins for the best article. 
There were also a few remarks as to how the arti- 
cle must be written — “ distinctly and only on one 
side of the paper.” 

A few days after she stole away into the empty 
loft, and there, with much trepidation of mind, she 
wrote an article on the desired topic. She used 
some sheets of paper torn from the copy-book of 
one of her sons, resting them on a bit of board and 
using the stumpy pencil with which she kept her 
milk account. 

She had no hope whatever of winning the prize ; 
indeed, she had' a vague notion that, somehow, it 


A Literary Triumph 


2 5 


was a newspaper swindle. Who in the world, in 
their right senses, would give twenty florins for a 
bit of writing that was not done by a lawyer or 
public notary ? She did not know exactly how 
editors arranged such matters ; doubtless they 
wanted to get as many receipts as possible for 
nothing, and, when they had secured them, they 
would give no one the prize, or would send it to 
some one of their relations ; naturally, that was the 
explanation. But Barbara liked to make butter; 
for, while she was at work, she could think of her 
customers in the nearest town. There was the 
judge’s wife, who always bought some from her; 
ah ! what a great man the judge was ! She could 
fancy him in the morning sitting down to his 
Vienna rolls, and her butter, while he meditated 
over his court business. Then the judge’s lady ! 
Barbara had seen her once, in her best silk dress, 
in an open carriage, and how beautiful she had 
looked. Oh! it was a privilege to sell butter to 
such people. Then there was the doctor; and, 
sometimes, the apothecary bought from her, while 
the hotel-keeper’s wife and the grocer could almost 
always be depended upon. 

With much trepidation of mind she had written 
her article ; not being in the habit of writing at all, 
she had drafted it first with the pencil, then she had 


26 The Forestman of Vimpek 


laboriously copied it on some sheets of foolscap 
that she had bought in the next town out of her 
egg money. It had taken her nearly three weeks 
to do all this, because it had to be done secretly. 
Ah, Blessed Virgin, how they would laugh at her, 
if they only knew what she had done ! 

What possessed her to write in the first place 
she never knew. It was the prompting of the evil 
one, she thought wearily, after it was all done, 
and the letter had been sent. After that, she 
thought no more of the subject ; indeed she had 
no time to do so, for the harvest time was near and 
she did not have a moment to herself. The rye 
and the wheat had been brought home safely, 
she said to herself one hot day, as she wiped the 
perspiration from her face; there was only the bar- 
ley and oats to come, and then all would be well ; 
but then the barley was their principal crop. 

Everything went well, however, till the after- 
noon on which they began to cart the barley home. 
Dark clouds gathered in the sky, and flashes of 
lightning showed that a thunder-storm was at 
hand. A cart was in the barn being unloaded, 
and Barbara ran to help the men. Her wooden- 
soled Bohemian shoes were clumsy, and the barley 
was dry and slippery as ice ; hardly had she 
climbed to the top of the load, when she slipped, 


A Literary Triumph 27 


and fell heavily, striking her head and back vio- 
lently against the wooden beam that divides the 
Bohemian threshing-floor from the barn. 

The hired man laughed loudly ; but when he saw 
that the woman did not get up, he slipped down, 
and raised her, calling out to her son and daughter, 
“Your mother’s hurt herself,” he said; “come and 
take her home.” Her children ran to her assist- 
ance, and between them she hobbled to the kitchen 
and sat down. 

“Go help unload the barley; it will be made 
yellow if it rains,” she said, writhing with pain ; 
“ I shall be all right again in a little while.” They 
did as she told them, but, when they came in, 
hours after, she still was sitting crouched on the 
chair as when they left her. 

“ I cannot walk — perhaps I had better lie down 
a while,” she said. “ Annie can cook the soup for 
to-night.” Then with their assistance she crept to 
bed. All night she lay in a stupor, and next 
morning her husband went for the “ Wise Woman ” 
of the village. She was very old, and said to be 
very wise. 

“ I can do nothing for her,” she said. But there 
were others who thought they could, and, as the 
days went by, all the neighbors came in; some 
advised this, some that ; but time passed and she 


28 The Forestman of Vimpek 


grew no better. And in Bohemia no one thinks 
of calling in a doctor, until everybody has tried 
his skill. 

At last the farmer made up his mind to go for 
the doctor. “It may cost a florin, and perhaps 
the medicine may cost another,” he said sulkily, to 
his children. “ But it is time this fooling should 
end ; who can lie in bed in the harvest time, I 
should like to know.” 

The doctor came. He was a cheery man. He 
examined Barbara carefully, then he said, “ Keep 
up a brave heart, good mother, you will soon be 
well. I will send you medicine that will ease 
your pain, and put you to sleep. But do you, like 
a good Christian, confess and receive the sacra- 
ment. Sickness is a nice time to repent of our 
sins and start afresh.” 

The farmer’s wife turned to the wall. She 
knew that she must die. 

Outside the house he told the truth. " There is 
no hope at all,” he said. “ She will die within a 
day or two. If you had sent for me at once, she 
might have been saved, but now it is too late. Send 
for the pfarrer instantly, and leave her in peace, if 
you can.” 

They stared at him stupidly. That such a little 
fall from the top of a barley load would kill her ! 


A Literary Triumph 


29 


The doctor was a learned man, but surely he must 
be mistaken. Still, they sent for the pfarrer. 

The pfarrer was himself a peasant’s son, whose 
line of horizon, beyond a little Latin, was almost 
as narrow as that of his parishioners. He heard 
the woman’s confession, and, in his own manner, 
tried to prepare this soul for eternity. He spoke 
to her of God’s goodness, of the Blessed Virgin, 
of her patron saint who would intercede for her. 
Then he said he would call again very soon, per- 
haps to-morrow ; but, in the meantime, he told her 
she was to pray and repent of her sins. 

She lay contentedly on her bed, all day, mostly 
alone ; for it was harvest time. It was so strange 
to lie on the bed all day, and do nothing. The 
nights were dreadful in the little low-roofed room, 
with the heat and the flies, and the pain at first had 
been intense ; but now she had only a dull sense 
of numbness in her back, and her head felt stupid. 
She did not worry any more about the children ; 
the Blessed Virgin would take care of them. And 
she, ah ! she was well content to go. It was 
God’s will, the pfarrer had said. No one could 
resist His will. She was quite stoical, as most 
Bohemian peasants are when they come to 
die. 

It was near evening, on the second day, when 


30 The Forestman of Vimpek 


her daughter came in with a registered letter. 
“ The postman says this letter is for you, mother ; 
but I told him there must be a mistake ; you never 
get registered letters from any one.” 

She showed it to her mother, and laid the 
Agriculturist on the bed. 

“ It is for me,” said the mother, with a strange 
look on her drawn face. “ Give me a pen and I 
will sign the receipt.” Her daughter brought her 
a pen, and raised her up a little so that she could 
write. “ Pay him, Annie,” she said, falling back 
with a groan. 

A few moments later, when her daughter re- 
turned, her mother lay smiling, the open letter 
in her hand. “ I have won the prize,” she said. 
“ Twenty florins ! See the two new ten-florin 
notes ! ” 

“ I do not understand,” said the girl, bewildered; 
“ what prize are you talking about, mother ? ” 

Her mother told her, and with trembling fingers 
opened the paper. Truly, there stood her article, 
with her name beneath. 

“And what will you do with so much money, 
mother ? ” asked the girl, in an awed voice. 

“ I do not know just now, Annie. Somehow I 
am very, very tired to-night; leave me a little 
while alone, I think I will go to sleep. See how 


A Literary Triumph 


3i 


beautiful the sunset is, all crimson and gold ! To- 
morrow will be a beautiful day ! ” 

She shut her eyes wearily, and her daughter 
left her. 

When they looked in, later, she was still asleep, 
and the excited Annie told her father and brothers 
and sisters of the honor done to their house. 

“ I cannot believe it,” said her father, “ till I see 
it for myself. Twenty florins for a bit of writing ! 
Well, it will come pretty handy for the funeral.” 
After a while he entered his wife’s room, and 
stooped over the bed. She was still sleeping. 
The workworn hands held the magazine, and the 
letter with the two ten-florin notes, but something 
in the sleeping face struck him. He touched her 
softly with his horny hand, then, hastily cross- 
ing himself, he called out, in a strangely awed 
voice, “ Children, your mother is dead. Pray for 
her soul ! ” 


CHAPTER III 


A Wedding in Our Village 

ES, I suppose our Barbara’s story was what 



X you would call a tragedy ; but then there are 
tragedies to be told of others in our village, too, 
and things that are not tragedies — weddings and 
christenings, feastings and pilgrimages, fortune as 
well as misfortune. For is it not fortune for a 
lad to wed an honest, diligent, and well-provided 


girl ? 


Only last week, as I may say, while I was gos- 
siping with the pfarrer in his garden beside the 
church, I saw such a pair. It was a beautiful 
June day, one of those days in which one is glad 
to be alive, and the pfarrer and I were sitting in his 
little garden, under an apple tree. The pfarrer 
was watching his bees and seemed to be enjoy- 
ing himself. Only one who knows his face as 
I do would have known by the searching glance 
he gave, now and then, down the dusty highway 
that led through the village, that he was waiting 
for some one. 


32 


A Wedding in Our Village 33 


His garden is small, and runs uphill between 
his house and the church ; but it is filled with fruit 
trees, and along the south side stand some twenty 
round beehives made of straw, the chief pride of 
the pfarrer’s heart. The day was hot, and we 
were sitting on a low bench from where he could 
see the highway, and watch his housekeeper feed- 
ing a brood of chickens with boiled rice. The 
little fluffy things ran here and there, while the 
decorous mother hen took up a grain of rice, and 
broke it into little bits, cackling the while. So inter- 
ested were we in this small family that we were 
very nearly taken unaware, as truly we would 
have been had not the housekeeper happened to 
look up. 

“ Some one for your reverence,” she said, and we 
all arose. Along the dusty highway a youth and 
maiden were coming. Both were dressed in their 
Sunday best, and they walked far apart, evidently 
oppressed with their thoughts, the heat, and each 
other’s company. The housekeeper chased the 
hen and chickens away, and entered the house in 
a hurry. I stood by the bench, while the pfarrer 
put on his most dignified look and awaited the 
pair. 

They were both of them tall and strong ; they 
had the blue eyes and blond hair of most Bohe- 


34 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


mian peasants, and they were dressed in the cos- 
tume of their country. The lad was in dark 
clothes, and on his head he wore a new stiff round 
hat that one saw, at a glance, he was not in the 
habit of wearing. The girl, on the other hand, 
was dressed in sky blue, while a heavy black silk 
handkerchief with a border of woven pink roses 
was tied over her head, and fastened under her 
chin, as is the fashion with our girls in Bohemia. 
The young fellow bowed awkwardly, but the girl 
walked straight up to the pfarrer and kissed his 
hand. Then they both stood, sheepishly, facing 
him ; they had come to be catechised before 
their wedding. 

The pfarrer looked at them benignantly, as he 
led them into his study, where I followed, as 
witness. There he motioned them to be seated 
on a wooden bench, that ran along one side of 
the room, upon which, as I know, many wretched 
youths and maidens and unfortunate students had 
sat before them. They took their seats, as far 
apart as possible ; the girl with downcast eyes 
played nervously with her handkerchief, the youth 
held to the brim of his stiff hat, and stared vacantly 
before him, while, with lad and lass alike, their 
labored breathing told, not only of exhaustion, but 
of fear, as well. 


A Wedding in Our Village 35 


Our pfarrer is a tall, spare man with a face one 
often sees on Catholic priests born of peasant 
parents ; it is rugged and stern, but about it there 
is, too, a certain humor and nobility. He took 
a big book from the table, and, placing a chair 
before the unfortunate lovers, began to turn the 
leaves. Now, it is my duty to say that he had no 
intention of being severe with them, and they 
both knew it. The girl was the daughter of the 
wealthiest farmer in the village, and the youth 
the son of a well-to-do miller, not far away. The 
pfarrer, like the rest of the village, thought it a 
good match ; he had been glad when things had 
been arranged satisfactorily, but though he had 
no intention of making his marriage fee less by 
being hard with them, still there were forms to 
be gone through, and this was one. The lovers 
also knew he would not be hard with them, and 
the youth, who was dull at learning, had taken the 
precaution to send a couple of fat ducks to 
the pfarrer’s housekeeper only the day before. 
Still, the unusual stillness, the strangeness of their 
surroundings, their Sunday clothes, and the so- 
lemnity of the pfarrer awoke a feeling of awe in 
them both. The youth held his hat with a grip of 
iron, as though it were the rock upon which Peter 
had built the Church, while he tried vainly to recall 


36 The Forestman of Vimpek 


something of the catechism. The girl fidgeted 
with her apron, and the silence was so deep that 
one could hear the flies buzzing at the windows. 

The pfarrer rather enjoyed the discomfort of 
his visitors. It was well that they should have 
respect before Mother Church, he knew, but he 
would not torture them too long. Looking up 
from his book, he said, “ I know you both to be 
good Christians and the children of honorable 
parents, so it will not be necessary to go into 
details.” 

Then he proceeded : “ In the beginning God 
made Adam and Eve, who lived in a garden, but 
they did not obey the Lord, and were cast out. 
So it will be with every soul that does not obey 
the Church and believe her doctrines.” With 
that, looking severely at Vavrinec (Lawrence, you 
would call it) he asked, “ Who were the first peo- 
ple in the world ? ” 

“Adam and Eve,” said Vavra, who had caught 
the clew. 

“ Right,” replied the pfarrer. “ And you, Kat- 
erina, tell me where they lived, and why they had 
to depart? ” 

This Katerina also knew, and the pfarrer 
beamed upon them. 

“ I knew it would be unnecessary to catechise 


A Wedding in Our Village 37 


you,” he said, “ and we will pass on to other 
things.” Then he began to exhort them about 
the holy state of matrimony. He knew perfectly 
well that if he had asked many more questions, 
and had not told them the answers beforehand, he 
would never be able to marry them. So he com- 
manded them to live like good Catholics, to bring 
up their children, if they had any, in the holy 
faith, and to live in peace with one another and 
all men, if possible, till their death. It was advice 
such as any father would give his children ; then 
he blessed them and presented each with a highly 
colored print of their patron saints — St. Law- 
rence with his gridiron, St. Catherine with her 
wheel — and, bidding them come early next day 
to confession, he dismissed them with a benedic- 
tion. 

When they were gone we went out into the gar- 
den, where we saw his housekeeper watching the 
lovers go down the road from the garden gate. 

“ They are a handsome pair,” said the pfarrer, 
“ and well matched.” 

“Yes,” I replied; “but it took a longtime to 
persuade the farmer to throw in the black heifer ; 
I am told, indeed, at one time it seemed as though 
nothing would come of it all, and the dohazo- 
vatsch (the match-maker) was in despair.” 


38 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ The black heifer is a handsome beast, worth 
some sixty florins, I should say,” mused the 
pfarrer. 

“ So the farmer said,” I replied, “ and he in- 
sisted that the miller should throw in a yearling 
Pig-” 

“ Ah ! but did he ? ” asked the pfarrer. 

“Not he!” was my answer. “ He said Vavra 
was a likely lad and could find another bride easy 
enough ; he said, indeed, that he had heard of two 
already.” 

“ Dear me ! And how was it arranged after 
all ? ” the pfarrer inquired. 

“Why, as usual, the relations came together 
and arranged the matter,” I explained. “The 
girl, so they declared, must have ten more geese ; 
and the lad a sucking pig. Then they all went 
to the inn, and got drunk, the most of them ; as 
they generally do.” 

“ So Vavra did not get the black heifer after 
all ? ” asked the pfarrer. 

“ Oh, yes, he did,” I answered. “ Next day his 
father turned up at the farmer’s, and said he was 
drunk the day before, and that his son should not 
marry Katerina unless he got the heifer. Then 
Katerina’s father told him again that he could find 
for his daughter a dozen lads just as good as his 


A Wedding in Our Village 39 


son, and he might go back from where he came 
from. The dohazovatsch, who had been prom- 
ised a few nice florins if the match came off, was 
quite wild at this. He declared to me that they 
were both more obstinate than their own oxen ; 
but what was to be done ? So he argued with the 
one, he drank with the other, he abused them 
both. Then all the relations again came together 
and squabbled with one another. At last they 
went to the notary in the next town and drew up 
the contract. Vavra got the black heifer, but the 
miller had to throw in a pig.” 

“ Well, I only hope they’ll get along well to- 
gether,” said the pfarrer. “ Vavra is almost new 
to us. He did not stay here in the village after 
his mother’s death, you know.” 

“ I know it,” I replied. “Vavra was brought up 
by his mother’s brother behind the mountains, 
when his father married again, you remember. 
They tell me that he has only been here a week 
or two ; who knows if they have seen one another 
half a dozen times ? ” 

“That is true, that is true,” said the pfarrer, 
adding hopefully, “ well, he is a likely lad.” 

“ Oh, yes, and they will get along well enough, 
when they get used to one another,” said the 
housekeeper. “ It will be a fine wedding. They 


40 The Forestman of Vimpek 


have borrowed all our extra plates and knives 
and forks.” 

With that she turned to go in, for it was time 
to get supper ready, and the cows were coming 
home. 

The pfarrer leaned on the gate, and watched the 
cows coming along. They belonged to the farmer 
of whom we had been speaking, and the black 
heifer was among them. Truly it was a fine ani- 
mal, and we did not wonder that there had been 
disagreements. Many a fine match has been 
spoiled by a poorer animal. 

“ It is a beast such as one does not often see,” 
I said, as I bade the pfarrer good-day. 

Sunday had been chosen for the wedding. 
During the harvest, Sunday is generally selected 
as a wedding day. When it arrived, both the 
pfarrer and his housekeeper were on the alert, 
and were straining their ears to hear the first 
notes of the musicians. 

“ They are going for the wedding guests,” said 
the housekeeper, at last, “and it is time your 
reverence went to the church. The bellmen are 
beginning to pull the ropes, and the people are 
gathering.” 

The pfarrer went away to robe himself, but the 
housekeeper took her position out in the road with 


A Wedding in Our Village 41 


the rest of us, where she could see everything and 
later on tell it all to the pfarrer. For she it was 
who always gathered all the news for him, flavor- 
ing it with additions and remarks of her own, as 
salt to the porridge. 

First, playing a lively march, came the six 
musicians, in a cart decorated with garlands and 
branches of trees. Then came the bride and 
bridegroom, also in a cart decorated with wreaths 
and ribbons, quite wonderful to behold ; and with 
them were the bridesmaids and the grooms smiling 
at one another, all in their Sunday clothes. Then 
came another cart in which, with the parents, 
rode the dohazovatsch in a long blue coat with 
brass buttons, and a broad hat with streamers of 
every color floating behind. He felt himself to 
be the most important person, next to the bride 
and bridegroom, for had he not made the match ? 
So he laughed and cracked jokes with every 
one. 

In other carts came the invited guests, and the 
relations, sitting and standing as best they could, 
while the youths shouted, and sang love songs or 
fired pistols, while in the distance, we could hear 
the bang of guns and blunderbusses. 

We, too, were all in our best clothes, though 
some of these were wonderful relics of a bygone 


42 The Forestman of Vimpek 


age. There were old men in long blue cloth coats 
with real silver buttons, and strangely decorated 
hats ; there were youths in short embroidered 
jackets, white leather pants, and high boots ; 
grandmothers in short stiff skirts of every color, 
with gold and silver embroidered caps, and in 
their hands enormous velvet mass books, that they 
held upside down, as they could not read; still 
others carried beautiful rosaries of Bohemian gar- 
nets marked with silver crosses, but they let the 
beads slip through their fingers mechanically, as 
they looked at the company. It was a peasant 
farmer’s wedding, and the relations had come 
from far and near, or one would not have seen so 
many costumes. Every one was smiling. Only 
the bride wept behind her handkerchief ; but then, 
with us, it is the custom for the bride to weep, and 
her sorrow may have been feigned. Katerina was 
dressed in a brown silk, and, on her beautiful 
blond head, she wore a myrtle wreath instead of 
the everlasting handkerchief which always decks a 
Bohemian woman’s crown. The bridegroom had 
his arm around her waist, and kissed her repeat- 
edly; but then that also is one of our customs, 
and the youths laughed loudly at his embraces, 
and shouted and sang all the more, while the 
musicians blew their trumpets and horns valiantly ; 


A Wedding in Our Village 43 

so that, what with the firing, shouting, and sing- 
ing, there was noise enough to rouse the dead. 

Before they reached the door of the church, the 
company all alighted and arranged themselves in 
line. There the dohazovatsch, as chief marshal, 
with his big stick and streaming ribbons, went on 
ahead; the musicians followed, and then came 
the bride and bridegroom, whose way was stopped 
every few steps by a string held across the road 
by small boys, who must be paid a few kreuzers 
before they could pass on. 

Once in the church the schoolmaster and his 
choir of scholars began the mass, and then the 
marriage ceremony was performed with as much 
pomp and solemnity as the parents had paid for. 
At the end of the mass the wedding guests all 
went into the vestry to sign the books, or make 
their crosses, and congratulate the lovers, who 
were now man and wife. Then, with still greater 
noise and blowing of trumpets, they all went to 
the Bohemian Lion. Of course the pfarrer and 
his housekeeper, and the schoolmaster too, were 
among the honored guests at the inn. 

There they whiled away the time, eating and 
drinking, and cracking jokes till dinner. The 
wedding dinner is always late, about four or five 
o’clock. 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


The dinner was at the bride’s house, and the 
guests were conducted there by the musicians, 
who had strengthened themselves with beer, and 
were in excellent humor. 

The dinner was elaborate, for Bohemia is cele- 
brated for its cooks. Soups, meats, and roasts 
followed one another rapidly, with dishes of vege- 
tables, and lastly the beloved Buchtys and Kolat- 
sches, and other cakes, so dear to peasant hearts. 
Every one ate and drank and was happy, and even 
the dogs and cats for once had enough. The 
pfarrer and schoolmaster each made a speech, and 
praised everybody — the bride, the groom, the 
parents, the dinner, everything, in fact. Then the 
dohazovatsch, who was in his element, and would 
almost have undertaken to find a bride for the 
foul fiend if he had been asked, sprang to his feet 
and said a few joking words that set every one 
roaring. 

After the dinner the musicians, who had also 
regaled themselves, conducted the company with 
loud trumpeting to the inn, where the dancing 
began. The pfarrer opened the “music” by 
dancing with the bride a “ solo ” as it is called — 
that is, a single couple. Then the bride danced 
with the schoolmaster, and lastly with the groom ; 
after that everybody danced with everybody else. 


A Wedding in Our Village 45 

For this dancing the bride had taken off her silk 
dress, and wore pink, but the myrtle wreath still 
crowned her blond head ; and she had ceased to 
cry. All around the inn were benches on which 
sat the old women of the village, bent on seeing 
and hearing everything ; they made remarks, flat- 
tering or otherwise, so loud that their victims 
often heard them above the music. The old men, 
who were less interested, played cards together in 
another room, while the youths and maidens stood 
about in the corners, and eyed one another 
sheepishly. 

When twelve o’clock came, all the bridesmaids 
and young girls gathered about the bride. They 
placed her in the centre and danced around her, as 
though to protect her. At the last stroke of 
twelve, a dozen or more middle-aged women rushed 
in. One of them held a cap, and tried to reach 
the bride, but she was prevented by the young 
girls. While the guests and all the company 
laughed, a friendly sort of skirmish took place 
between the married women and the maidens ; but 
at last the bride was captured and led away weep- 
ing, to have her maiden wreath exchanged for the 
married cap. The musicians and most of the 
guests accompanied the pair to their home, where 
the bride cut the wedding-cake in pieces, and dis- 


4 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


tributed it among the company, as a sign that she 
would be a hospitable housekeeper. 

Then they left the young married pair at home 
by themselves, and the musicians led the guests 
back to the inn, where there was dancing through 
the whole night. The pfarrer, the schoolmaster, 
and I, who were old friends, went together to the 
pfarrer’s to talk the affair over. 

“ They are a handsome pair,” said the pfarrer, 
“and well matched. When the farm goes over 
into Vavra’s hands the fields will not lose by it. 
He is a diligent lad, I have heard, though dull of 
wits. A desirable son-in-law, I should say.” 

“Yes,” said the teacher, who was a little given 
to be sentimental at times, though it was a weak- 
ness of which he was ashamed. “One cannot 
have everything in this world. And she will get 
used to him, in time.” 

“ Oh, of course,” said the pfarrer, who after a 
good dinner and plenty of beer was inclined to see 
everything in a cheerful light. “You are thinking 
of that student lad from the next village who 
courted her. A handsome lad he was, I allow, and 
a good scholar, so I have heard ; but he was no 
match for her, a rich farmer’s daughter ! ” 

“ No, of course not ! ” said the teacher, coming 
back with a sigh to the everyday life he led. His 


A Wedding in Our Village 


47 


thoughts, he told us, had been wandering to the 
time when he had been a soldier, when he had 
loved and been loved, and when heifers and pigs 
had not played an important part in his life. 

“ As you say, they are well matched ; the parents 
can be quite satisfied, and the wedding was a 
success.” 

“ Yes,” said the pfarrer, twirling his stick. “ It 
was a success, and cost a nice few florins.” 

“ Assuredly ! ” assented the teacher, absent- 
mindedly. He was looking off at the landscape, 
flooded with moonlight — the high hills rising to 
the sky, the dark forests that shut the village in on 
three sides, and the dusty highway that wound like 
a white ribbon among the fields. It was all very 
beautiful and looked most peaceful — as peaceful 
as the lake, that shone like a bit of silver from 
where we stood. But the schoolmaster knew that 
beneath these picturesque roofs of straw and shin- 
gle there were breaking and aching hearts that 
night, and I think he rather suspected that his 
scholar Katerina, in spite of the brave wedding, 
was one of them. 

As we stood a moment before the pfarrer’s 
house, which, with the church and schoolhouse, 
overlooked the village, we could see the illumina- 
tions in the inn windows, and hear the loud music 


48 The Forestman of Vimpek 


and the singing and shouting of the lads, many of 
whom had drunk more than was good for them. 

“ They are happy down there,” said the pfarrer. 
“ Ah, well ! the young will be young.” Then he 
sighed, and who knows what thoughts went through 
his head as he looked down at the village ? 

With that we wished one another good night and 
parted. The pfarrer went in to sleep; but the 
teacher lingered a long time on his homeward way. 
He was fond of the moonlight and his thoughts. 
As for me, I called for my aunt, who, also, was 
talking over the wedding with the pfarrer’s house- 
keeper, and, together, we walked home to our 
cottage in the forest. 


CHAPTER IV 


Our Village 

1 HAVE said we had not many celebrated peo- 
ple in our village — for we do not even boast 
as we might of Barbara Mlejnek, who took the 
Agriculturist and won a literary triumph, nor even 
of Rosalia Werich, the singer of whom I may tell 
you sometime. 

Still, we have many things to think about and 
many to do, in the long summer days in the village, 
where we are always busy, and in the dark forests 
that are never still. For, to us, the deep forest is 
ever whispering with a vague unrest in its mur- 
mur ; and I often think that it is perhaps this 
forest-born unrest that leads so many of our boys 
and girls to wander away into the great world — 
for the Bohemians, you know, dearly as they love 
their fatherland, are among the greatest wanderers 
on earth. 

But when the days grow short and the mountain 
peaks are veiled by clouds and mist, many of our 
wanderers come back and tell us of the busy world 
E 49 


50 The Forestman of Vimpek 

outside. Kings, emperors, and their doings are 
discussed, and then we settle down to endure the 
long, dark winter as best we can. The winter in 
our part of Bohemia is long, and the mountain 
torrents rise so swiftly that the roads are often 
impassable. Then there are snow-storms that 
block up the roads, so that the people living in the 
forest beyond the village cannot even bury their 
dead. Still, no one thinks of complaining if 
there are potatoes and black bread enough to go 
around, and they sit in their hot rooms quite 
contentedly. 

In the evening whoever can goes to the inn ; not 
that most of us can afford to drink beer every 
evening, but we can, at least, play cards and hear 
the news. The innkeeper, Josef, knows that 
when we have money in the summer we will 
drink a tin can or two in his little garden, so he 
says nothing unpleasant. 

The pfarrer and the schoolmaster, who are our 
aristocrats (though both of them are peasant-born), 
sit at the green-painted table and play cards, or 
talk politics. Sometimes they are joined by a 
farmer or two, when they play Jednadvacet (which 
you call “twenty-one”), Dardu, or sometimes Fer- 
bla, games forbidden by the paternal government 
as hazardous, but dear to all Bohemian hearts. 


Our Village 


5i 


At another table, not far away, sits the shoe- 
maker, Prokop Farka, generally with an old news- 
paper or some tattered book before him. A 
formidable man is Prokop, in spite of his small 
size ; for he has seen the world, and wandered far 
and wide. He claims to have a poor opinion of 
the village, and the village has an equally poor 
opinion of him, though he belongs to us ; for his 
father and his grandfather before him were born in 
this lonely valley. Prokop learned his trade in 
Vienna, as most of our boys do, and he is said to 
be the best shoemaker for miles around ; but the 
trouble is he will never work unless he wishes to, 
if he is not almost on the verge of starvation. 
Thirty-odd years he kept away from us ; then one 
beautiful June day, when the roses were all in 
bloom, and the haymakers were in the meadows, 
Prokop came back to us, walking in as though he 
had parted from us only the day before. Most 
of his relations and friends were dead, and he 
himself, he told us, was a widower ; but other- 
wise he was the same. The village was the same, 
too, so he assured us, and we were just as stupid 
and ignorant as we had always been. Still, in 
spite of our stupidity and ignorance, he remained 
among us, and set up housekeeping by himself in 
his grandfather’s log hut quite at the edge of the 


52 The Forestman of Vimpek 


village, and near the forest. Prokop rarely spoke 
of his personal affairs, and we never knew who 
his wife was or whether he had ever had any chil- 
dren ; but one thing was certain, he had wandered 
far and wide ; he could describe almost every large 
town in Germany and Austria, and he had picked 
up half a dozen languages. Hroch, the starosta 
(the eldest one — what you would call the mayor), 
came to see him when perplexed with letters from 
Germany, and Prokop was the consolation of all 
those who could not read or write ; otherwise he 
was the most unamiable person in our village. 

Our wooden “ nejschle ” are always left at the 
inn door, and one can always know how many of 
us are within by counting the shoes. Sometimes, 
as we sit on the benches dangling our stockinged 
feet, a gentleman will come along and tells us the 
news of some robbery, while he drinks his koralka 
and warms his half-frozen hands and feet. Some- 
times a cart-load of komedianti, or players, will 
ride up and beg to be allowed to play, or to stay 
at the inn over the night ; or perhaps a parcel of 
dirty Hungarian gypsies, with their children tied 
on their backs, come to us begging. Then every 
one hurries home to lock up the doors, for the 
gypsies are the greatest thieves in our part of 
Bohemia. 


Our Village 


53 


In the spring, however, it is different. Then 
the inn is empty and all the world is out in the for- 
est or the fields. Everywhere one sees flocks of 
geese and goslings, attended by little children or by 
old men or women too old for any other work. 
Hundreds, yes thousands, of geese are raised by us, 
and sold in the autumn to men who are called 
“ geese-drivers,” who drive large flocks into Bavaria 
for sale. 

For those who have no ambition, or for those 
who have seen enough of the world and its toils, 
ours is a peaceful and a happy life enough ; but, 
oh ! the unutterable sadness for those whom fate 
forces to remain immured behind these mountains 
and forests when they are yearning to be elsewhere ! 
Poor Jan Anderlik was one of these. He was a 
good scholar and had gone to Vienna to learn a 
better trade; but just as he was getting on well 
there, his father died and he had to come back, 
because his mother could not send him the few 
florins a year that he needed. Jan could not get 
over his disappointment. True, he seldom spoke 
of it, and he went into the forest with his axe, like 
the rest of us, to support his mother and young 
brother ; but he grew up silent and stern, and some- 
times there was a dangerous flash in his dark blue 
eyes. People said he was born for better things 


54 The Forestman of Vimpek 


than wood-chopping, and the schoolmaster sighed 
when he saw Jan coming from the forest with a 
fagot of wood on his back; but what was to be 
done ? 

So you see there is nothing remarkable about 
our village but its poverty, as there is no large 
estate to provide work for our peasants, and we 
have to shift for ourselves. To be sure, there is 
the manor-house of the Dumeks just outside the 
village; but, like many another Bohemian noble 
family, they lost almost all their property away 
back in the Hussite War, and have to vegetate on 
this poor .estate that can hardly support them. 
Still, everybody knows who they are, and doffs his 
hat before the young gentlemen, even if they are 
almost as poorly dressed as we are. We know 
they cannot study, as there is no money to sup- 
port them at school; but we pay them the due 
reverence that they deserve as honorable people, 
whose family lost almost everything for the 
Bohemian cause. 

Yes, our village is just a stupid little Bohemian 
hamlet like hundreds of others, shut up in the dark 
forest, or perched upon a hill ; but we have our 
own troubles and sorrows, our saints and sinners, 
like the rest of the world. And who knows how 
many aching hearts would give everything to again 


Our Village 


55 


see our mountains, and the dark forest where they 
wandered in childhood and youth. 

Jan Anderlik ? Ah, he is dead now. We do not 
like to talk of him in our village, for his was a sad 
story — a real tragedy, friend. 

Will I tell it ? Surely, if you care to hear it. 
We are not yet through talking it over in our 
village, and shaking our heads in sorrow and per- 
plexity over the story of Jan Anderlik’s mother 
and her two sons. 


CHAPTER V 


Her Two Sons 

I T all came from our drink, my friend — drink 
and anger. The dancing was at its wildest 
that day, at the Bohemian Lion, and many of the 
youths, through excitement and beer, had begun 
to be quarrelsome, when the musicians struck up 
the Straschak, a dance in which partners are 
stolen. Usually this is a pleasant enough dance, 
and even the robbed one laughs, as his partner 
twirls away with another lad; but on that day more 
than one youth looked angry and stamped noisily 
with his feet, as he was left alone. Jan Anderlik 
had been dancing and drinking more or less all 
the evening, and his face was flushed as he went 
for Annie Medina, who had been playing fast and 
loose with him for weeks ; this evening, especially, 
she had made him frantic with her sweet speeches, 
while all the time she was casting admiring glances 
at his rival, Peter Chalupa. Annie, as all the 
world knew, was no better than she should be, 
but, then, neither she nor Peter belonged to our 
56 


Her Two Sons 


57 


village; and when people had mentioned the 
matter to Jan, in a friendly way, he had looked 
at them so darkly from under his heavy eye- 
brows that they had hastily said: “Ah, well! 
who knows? Perhaps what people say of her 
and her goings on in Vienna is not true. I have 
but told you what I heard.” When he went 
for her to dance the Straschak with him, more 
than one old woman said to her neighbor : “ It 
is a pity Jan is taken up with that hussy; she 
is not worthy of him. For Jan is a dutiful lad, 
if he is poor, and supports his mother and little 
brother; he surely deserves a better wife than 
that flighty girl.” 

But Jan, poor fellow, was in the seventh heaven 
because Annie had smiled upon him, and he 
thought of no evil as he twisted about and stamped 
like the rest of the dancers. They had already 
made the circuit of the room when he noticed that 
she was making signs to Peter. Now this Peter 
Chalupa, as I told you, came from another vil- 
lage, and was known as a thief ; he had been in 
jail more than once, and had nothing but his swag- 
gering tongue to recommend him. But Jan saw 
Annie motion to Peter to steal her from him, and 
his blood boiled within him. 

“Am I not good enough for you,” he asked 


58 The Forestman of Vimpek 


angrily, “ that you are making eyes at that 
fellow ? ” 

“Fellow?” said the girl, “why, he is a man, 
and you — you are only a stupid boy.” 

She laughed lightly as she said this, and threw 
herself into Peter’s arms ; for he had understood 
her signs and was at her side to steal her when 
the break in the dance occurred. 

Jan stood for a moment like one turned to 
stone ; then he went and stood beside one of the 
doors, and watched them. 

“ Do not mind her, Jan,” said an old woman 
who was a friend of his mother’s ; “ she is but a 
light piece, not worthy of an honest lad’s love.” 

But Jan did not heed her; he only watched 
them, and his brow grew dark. When the dance 
came to an end, Peter and Annie disappeared 
together, unaware that Jan was following stealthily 
behind. When they came back to the inn, he was 
still following them ; but this time there was a wild 
look in his eyes, and he laughed loudly as he 
drank a glass of koralka and called out huskily : 
“I am a stupid boy, am I ? Oh, yes ; I am a 
stupid boy ! ” There was too much noise and 
talking going on for any one to notice him, for 
the musicians had struck up again, and everybody 
went to dancing ; but a few people looked at Jan, 


Her Two Sons 


59 


as he leaned against the wall watching instead of 
waltzing. 

Wildly the music played, and the dancers flew 
past. But Jan did not move; he only looked. 
When Annie and Peter passed him the second 
time, Peter flung out his arm and struck Jan 
across the face with his hand ; and Annie laughed. 
True, the lads often fling up their hands while 
dancing ; but whether it was an accident or in- 
tended, who can ever say ? 

Jan staggered back against the wall for a 
moment ; then, catching a knife that lay beside a 
loaf of bread on a table .near by, he sprang at 
them. How it all happened no one will ever know : 
for a moment all three were seen struggling on 
the floor together ; then loud shrieks drowned 
the music; silence then followed, when every one 
rushed to the spot. The girl, stabbed in the 
breast, was apparently dying ; Peter lay weltering 
in his blood; while Jan, wounded and bloody from 
the struggle, was about to kill himself, and, hardly 
knowing what he was doing, struggled desperately 
with the men who were holding him back. 

It was a horrible sight, and the affrighted peo- 
ple crossed themselves and shuddered, while this 
one called for the pfarrer, and that one for the 
doctor and the gendarmes. 


6o The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ Wretched boy ! what have you done ? ” asked 
Jan’s friends. “You have murdered them 
both, and will hang for it.” “Oh, the vile 
hound!” shrieked others. “Jan will burn in hell 
for this.” 

But a dead silence fell upon them as the pfarrer 
entered ; he went up to the girl, whose head was 
pillowed on a woman’s lap, but it was too late to 
hear her confession, and even as he knelt beside 
her there came a convulsive twitching that shook 
her body, and she was dead. Silently he closed 
her eyes, and, making the sign of the cross, 
bade them lay her, as best they could, on one 
of the long tables. Then he turned to Peter, 
who was groaning, and tried to cheer him, while 
the shepherd bound his wounds to stanch his 
blood until the doctor should come ; but the 
pfarrer knew as well as the others standing by 
that Peter’s hour had come ; no doctor could 
ever heal those wounds. 

Jan, silent and motionless, and bleeding from 
many wounds, was securely held by strong hands 
until the starosta should have found his ropes to 
bind him with. Soon they came, those he had 
known and loved all his life, and bound his hands 
behind him, and called him murderer. Then fol- 
lowed his mother, who had been home with his sick 


Her Two Sons 


6 1 


brother, and, weeping so that she could hardly 
speak, called out to him. 

“ Mother of God ! ” she cried. “ My son, what 
have you done?” and she wept, and wrung her 
hands. 

But the lad answered nothing ; he seemed 
dazed, and looked stupidly at the shepherd who 
was binding up his wounds. The shepherd was 
one with whom he had played, who had gone to 
school with him, and been his greatest friend. 

The pfarrer had heard Peter’s confession, and 
had gone home to robe himself and administer the 
last sacrament, for the dying man was failing fast 
from loss of blood. It was a strange scene, there 
at the Bohemian Lion, with its decorated walls 
hung with green garlands and paper flowers, the 
body of the dead girl laid out on a long table, 
hastily brought in, and the youth lying speechless 
on a mattress on the floor, while all about the 
frightened peasants stood in groups and whispered 
together. 

When the pfarrer entered the room, bearing the 
sacrament, all fell on their knees; even poor Jan 
knelt by his mother, and bowed his head, as he 
could not cross himself with his bound hands. 
Peter was failing fast ; so, after anointing him, the 
pfarrer began reciting the prayers for the dying 


62 The Forestman of Vimpek 


after extreme unction; the peasants responded, 
and thus the two gendarmes and the doctor found 
them occupied when they came. 

The gendarmes took down all the circumstances, 
and the names of some of the witnesses ; then, 
untying Jan’s hands, they put on the iron hand- 
cuffs they always carry with them. 

“Jan was always a quiet lad,” said the starosta, 
“ almost too quiet. I cannot think what came 
over him.” 

“ Nor I,” said the shepherd, “ except that it 
was the madness of jealousy.” 

“ A diligent, honest lad. I shall miss him in the 
forest ; he was my right hand,” spoke his master. 

“O my God! what shall I do without him,” 
wailed his mother. “ Since his father’s death, he 
has been my only help and comfort. A dutiful 
son was Jan, a loving brother. Mother of God ! 
He must have been mad, raving mad. He that 
would not hurt a fly, and went out of his way 
rather than crush a worm.” 

The gendarmes said nothing; they knew that 
what the people said was true, for they had known 
the lad for years ; but they also knew that he was 
lost, and would never see his native village again. 

The pfarrer, who had put away his robes, came 
near to comfort the mother, and if possible to get 


Her Two Sons 


6 3 


her to go home before her son was led away ; but 
it was useless, she would not move. 

“He has been a good son to me,” she said. “ I 
will see the last of him.” 

Jan said nothing, he seemed turned to stone; 
not a word passed his pale lips, and when the 
pfarrer, who had baptized him, bade him look to 
God alone, he said not a word, though he must 
have understood that he should say farewell to his 
mother forever. 

So they led him away handcuffed between them, 
and the villagers who had known him all his life 
watched him go. Outside the village, on a small 
hill that overlooked it, he stopped, and, turning 
around, gazed long at the landscape ; then, without 
a word, he went on ; he knew that, on earth, he 
would never see his home again. 

***** 

Months passed. The harvest was over, and the 
wind began to blow cold across the stubble, when 
Jan’s mother was told her son was condemned to 
death. The pfarrer told her as gently as he could, 
bidding her take courage, and pray for Jan’s soul. 
“ For though he is lost on earth, he may be for- 
given in heaven,” he said. 

“ Would they let me see him, reverend 
father ? ” asked the lad’s mother, heedless of his 


64 The Forestman of Vimpek 


advice. There was but one thought in her heart ; 
she must clasp her boy to her breast once more 
before he died. 

“ Perhaps they would, I do not know exactly,” 
said the pfarrer ; “ but it is a long way to the town, 
and then it would make the parting all the more 
sad. Remain where you are, and pray for his 
soul.” 

But his mother would not remain. She went to 
a neighbor and sold her six geese so as to have a 
little money for the way; then, dressing herself 
and her boy in their Sunday best, she started on 
her long journey. It was nearly all uphill, and 
the boy’s feet grew weary, so that they had to stop 
every little while for rest, and it took them three 
days to reach their destination. When they saw 
the town in the distance, they sat down by a brook 
and washed their feet ; then they put on their 
shoes and stockings, so as to look respectable, and 
the poor mother began to tremble with fear, lest, 
after all the long journey, she would not be allowed 
to see her son. 

They had neither of them ever been in such a 
large town before, and Andreas held on to his 
mother’s skirt in fear, while she, poor woman, 
looked about her in bewilderment. 

“Where is the prison, my good friend?” she 


Her Two Sons 


65 


found courage at length to ask of a poor old 
woman who looked mild and humble. 

“The prison! It is not far from here. Come 
with me ; I am going that way, and will show 
you,” said the woman. 

They followed her wearily, through one street 
and another, till a large building came in view. 
“ That is the prison,” said their guide, turning 
round. “ Ring at that door where the soldiers are 
standing, and they will let you in. You are going 
to visit some one, I suppose ? ” 

“Yes,” said the mother, shrinking back, “we 
are going to visit a friend. Thank you many 
times for showing us the way.” 

The old woman cast a compassionate look at 
her and the boy. “ It is not with such a face that 
one goes to see a friend,” she thought, as she 
turned away. 

Jan’s mother went to the door and rang. A man 
in uniform opened, and asked her what she wanted. 

She told him she wished to see the prisoner, Jan 
Anderlik. 

“ Have you a permit ? ” he asked. 

No ! what is a permit ? ” she inquired. 

“ You must go to the Herr Director,” he said, 
« and ask him for a permit ; no one is allowed to 
see a prisoner without one.” 

F 


66 The Forestman of Vimpek 

“ Where does the Herr Director live ? ” she 
asked, and the guard pointed to a house near by. 

With a quaking heart she rang ; what if he 
should refuse her? 

A girl opened the door, and she asked for the 
Herr Director. The girl stared at her curiously. 
“ What do you want ? ” she asked, “ the Herr 
Director does not see every one.” 

“I wish to beg for a permit to see Jan Ander- 
lik,” she said. 

‘‘You are perhaps a relation?” asked the girl, 
who had heard the story of the crime. 

“ I am his mother.” 

The girl opened the door and ushered her in. 
It was a large hall they entered, and from there 
she led them into a bare room, in which were only 
a table and a few chairs and benches. “ Sit down 
and wait,” she said ; “ I will tell the Herr Director.” 

They waited perhaps half an hour, then a tall, 
portly man entered, and looked at them not 
unkindly. 

“You are the mother of Jan Anderlik?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, merciful gentleman. Please give me a 
permit to see him, I beseech you.” 

He went tq the table strewed with papers, and 
wrote on a card. 


Her Two Sons 


67 


“ Here is a permit,” he said, “but I would 
advise you not to see him ; it will upset you both, 
and do no good.” 

“Thanks, merciful gentleman, but I must see 
him. May God reward you.” 

He shrugged his shoulders, and motioned them 
to the door. 

This time the guard admitted them to the 
prison, and led them through a number of halls to 
a small room with heavily barred windows. Sol- 
diers with bayonets stood all about, in the halls 
and at the doors, and a man in uniform, with a 
gold band round his collar, came to meet them, 
and motioned them to be seated while he sent for 
the prisoner. 

Jan’s mother sat down on the bench and waited. 
There was a dull rumbling sound in her head, and 
she trembled with excitement and weakness, hav- 
ing been unable to eat anything for hours. What 
did she think about ? God only knows ; she could 
never remember clearly herself. She saw Jan as 
a baby, her first baby. She remembered his earli- 
est words, and how he had toddled to her when 
she came home from her work, and how he used to 
fall asleep in her arms with his blond curly hair 
nestled against her breast. There was a choking 
feeling in her throat, but she could not weep. 


68 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Her thoughts went on ; he was larger now, and 
ran to meet her, when she came from the town, 
and threw his arms around her, and called her 
dearest, sweetest mother. Then she was bidding 
him good-by as he left for the town to earn his 
fortune. And now she was to see him for the 
last time; she was to bid him farewell forever, 
he who, for twenty years, had been the joy and 
delight of her life. She heard the heavy steps of 
the guards, and in another moment her son stood 
before her. 

Jan had grown pale and thin, and the prison 
clothes hung limp upon him, but otherwise he was 
calm and quiet, as he had always been. His 
mother clasped him to her heart, and covered his 
face with kisses while she sobbed aloud on his 
breast. 

He could not return her embraces, for his hands 
were chained, but his face twitched nervously, as 
he tried to console her. 

“You should not have come, mother,” he said. 
" It will soon be over, and Andreas will be a better 
son to you than I have been.” 

“No one could be a better son to me than you 
were, before this frenzy took you, Jan. You must 
have been mad,, you wretched boy.” 

“ I think I was, mother. But it is too late now 


Her Two Sons 


69 


to talk about that. I have repented of my sins ; 
give me your blessing ere — ere I go away.” 

His mother only clasped him closer, while An- 
dreas sobbed aloud, and the guards looked away. 

So the moments slipped by, till the clock struck, 
and the chief of the guards motioned to Jan that 
the time was up. 

“ Mother,” he said huskily, “ give me your 
blessing and let me go.” 

But she only clasped him closer. 

“ Poor woman,” said the guard, “ I pity you, but 
I cannot help you. The time is up. Do as he 
asks, if you have the heart, and let him go.” 

Jan bowed his head, and his mother laid her 
trembling, workwom hand on his blond cropped 
hair, and blessed him, weeping the while. Then 
he kissed her and his little brother, and the guards 
led him back to his cell. 

His mother watched him disappear; then a 
great darkness seemed to envelop her, and she 
knew nothing till she came to herself lying on a 
bench in a large room. Some one had thrown 
water in her face, and the Herr Director was 
saying : “ It is always thus ; you can say what 
you like, but they will never let well enough 
alone. Who knows where she has come from, 
and if she has had anything to eat for hours ? 


70 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Then this parting! Murderer though he is, she 
was his mother.” 

The pfarrer looked at her, but said nothing ; he 
was used to heartrending scenes, for he was prison 
chaplain, and perhaps he knew that words were 
useless. 

Jan’s mother wiped the water from her face, and 
got up. Who was she to disturb the merciful 
gentlemen ? 

“ I thank you kindly for having let me see my 
boy,” she said to the Herr Director. “It made 
me a little faint, but I can go now; I am all 
right.” 

“ Where will you go ? ” he asked. “ Home ? 
Have you a home and husband ? ” 

“ I am a widow, merciful gentleman,” she said, 
“and I have a little room. Jan,” with a choke in 
her voice, “was my oldest boy.” 

“ From here to your village is a long wav. 
Have you any money ? ” asked the Herr Director, 
putting his hand in his pocket, for he had a kind 
heart in spite of his position. 

Jan’s mother shrank back. “ I have enough, 
merciful gentleman,” she said, “and we will 
walk ; but, but,” turning instinctively to the 
pfarrer, “could I find out, would it be possible 
to know, when it is — all over?” 


Her Two Sons 


7i 


“ I am the prison chaplain,” said the pfarrer, 
“ and will accompany him to the end ; if you wish, 
I will write and tell you. Can you read ? ” 

“No, your reverence, but our pfarrer will read 
it to me, and may God reward you.” 

She gave him her address, which he wrote down 
in his note-book, bidding her pray to God in the 
meanwhile, “ the consoler of the disconsolate, and 
His Blessed Mother.” 

Then, thanking them both, she went down the 
long hall, out through the guarded door, and 
into the silent street. It was past noon and she 
looked about, where she could buy some bread for 
Andreas’s dinner; but there were no booths in 
that part of the town, and they wandered on and 
on. At length she saw a cheap coffee-room. 
She entered, for she could hardly stand, and 
ordered two cups of coffee and some bread. 
Andreas ate heartily, being only a child ; but the 
food choked the poor woman. Then they started 
homeward. 

This time they went quicker, for the way was 
nearly all downhill; and on the second day, at 
evening, they reached our village, and entered 
their little room. Andreas was tired out, and went 
to sleep; but his poor mother had first to pass 
through an ordeal. Her neighbors all came to 


72 The Forestman of Vimpek 


hear the news, and condole with her, and this is 
gall and wormwood to a proud peasant heart. 
They meant it kindly, no doubt, good people, and 
were sorry for her and the lad who had been born 
and brought up among them; but it was very bitter 
to Jan’s mother. There had come a reaction over 
the village, now that the first horror and shame 
had passed away. The wisest among them re- 
membered that Jan had always been a good boy, 
“ while as for Peter,” they said, “ why, all the world 
knew what Peter and Annie were. Jan had done 
very wrong. Oh, yes, they would not deny that ; 
but then he had also had good cause to be jealous, 
and he killed them in a frenzy. Lads of twenty 
are hot-headed. God would have mercy on his 
soul.” 

She answered them as best she could, and when 
they saw how heavy was her heart, they left her 
in peace. 

Day after day she went into the dark forest for 
fagots, for she could not bear to see her neigh- 
bors’ faces, and now there was no Jan to help her, 
and the long winter was at the door. Somehow 
she felt happier in the forest than in the village 
with its everyday cares and gossips ; what did it 
matter now whose cow had calved, or what this 
one or that had said or done ? She knew that her 


Her Two Sons 


73 


boy would die in two weeks, for they had told her the 
day and hour. That thought was burned into her 
brain, and she could think of nothing else. What 
she suffered in that time no one can tell ; even the 
neighbors avoided her, rather than look into her 
sorrow-stricken face, and little Andreas had grown 
to be nearly as silent as his mother. 

At length the dawn broke on that wretched day, 
when Jan’s mother knew her boy would die. It 
was a dreary autumn morning, and, instead of the 
church, she went into the forest to pray for his 
soul ; she could not have borne the pitying glances 
of her neighbors in the house of God. In a quiet, 
lonely spot, where she could hear the village clock 
strike, she knelt down with Andreas by her side, 
and prayed for her son’s soul. The silence was 
unbroken save by the rustling of the wind in the 
dry branches, or the fall of an acorn or nut. On 
the cold ground she knelt, and in an agony she 
prayed the litany for the dying. When the clock 
struck ten she broke into uncontrollable sobbing, 
and, throwing herself face downward on the dry 
leaves, wept her heart out. At length, when she 
had grown calmer, she took out her rosary, and 
again began to pray ; but this time it was the litany 
for the dead. 

Three days later the postman brought her a let- 


74 The Forestman of Vimpek 


ter ; it was the only letter she had ever received, 
and she trembled so that the kreuzer fell from her 
hand, and the postman had to pick it up. It was 
a beautifully written letter, but she, poor woman, 
could not read, and she stared at it sadly. She 
knew it would tell her how her boy died, and yet 
she shrank from hearing. After a while she hid 
the letter in her breast, and went to the pfarrer to 
have it read. 

He was just drinking his afternoon coffee when 
she came, and he bade his housekeeper bring her 
a cup, though he knew from her face she would 
not drink it, and he more than suspected what mis- 
sion had brought her. 

When the housekeeper had served the coffee, 
and taken her departure, Jan’s mother took out 
the letter. 

“ It is from the reverend father of the prison,” 
she said ; “ read it to me.” 

The pfarrer rose, and went to the window, as 
though to see better, but in reality to turn his back 
upon her ; then he opened the envelope and, draw- 
ing out the letter, he read it to her. 

It was such a letter as one priest would write to 
another. “ Jan Anderlik had suffered the full pen- 
alty of the law on the day and hour appointed,” it 
said. “ He died calmly, piously, repenting of all 


Her Two Sons 


75 


his sins, and in the bosom of the Catholic Church ; 
there was every hope his soul was saved.” Then 
the writer went on to advise the lad’s mother “ to 
pray for his soul, and trust in God and the Blessed 
Virgin.” 

She listened in silence ; she had known before- 
hand what the letter would probably say ; and yet 
she had hoped for some word of consolation from 
Jan, something that she could remember through 
the long, dreary years. She sat stupidly staring 
at the pfarrer, with dull eyes that saw not, till he 
raised her, saying, “Trust in God, you have 
another son.” 

“ Yes,” she said wearily, “ I have another son ; 
and he also will be lost.” 

“ How so ? ” asked the pfarrer. 

“People will throw it in the poor boy’s face, 
that his brother was a murderer,” she said, forcing 
her lips to say the hated word ; “ and it will ruin 
him.” 

“ You see things too darkly now, good mother,” 
answered the pfarrer ; but, being peasant-born 
himself, he knew that she spoke the truth. 

“ When the boy is older we will see what can be 
done,” he added. “ Perhaps we could find a 
place for him in another village. Have you no 
relations ? ” 


y6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“In the next village, yes,” she replied; “but 
there, too, every one knows. It would be the same 
thing everywhere. Here, at least, I can protect 
him a little ; but there I could do nothing for him.” 

“Is he good at his books, I wonder?” asked 
the pfarrer ; “ perhaps I could get him a free 
place somewhere ; in the meantime keep him 
from playing with the boys as much as you can.” 

She looked at him absently, for her thoughts 
were far away, and she hardly heard what he said. 
Then coming to herself with a start, she put out 
her hand for the letter, and with the usual “ God 
reward you,” took her departure. 

***** 

The years had come and gone, marked only in 
the lives of the peasants by the good years and 
the bad. Jan’s mother had grown to be an old 
woman, with bent back and gray hair. She still 
lived in the little room in our village looking out on 
the forest ; but she had no son to assist her to carry 
her fagots home, or support her declining years. 

It had turned out as she had said that it would. 
Whenever Andreas had childish disagreements 
with his schoolmates, they would call him harsh 
names. At every little squabble, they would taunt 
him with his .brother’s crime, until, mad with rage, 
he would strike at them ; then they would run 


Her Two Sons 


77 


howling to their parents, with the tale that Andreas 
wanted to murder them, as his brother had mur- 
dered Peter, whereupon the parents would rush 
out and box the poor lad’s ears, and abuse both him 
and his mother. The pfarrer and the schoolmas- 
ter tried to protect him, but it was a hopeless task ; 
so they did the only thing they could, — they got 
him a free place in a convent school. 

But what is the life of a poor student in Bohe- 
mia, but privation and sorrow ! Andreas drank 
the bitter cup to the dregs, for he was not only 
poor, but disgraced. Educated on charity, what 
career was open for the wretched boy but the 
church ? So Andreas became a priest. 

Three years after his mother had parted from 
him, she heard that he was to be sent with others 
as a missionary to heathen lands, among people 
who worshipped wood and stone, and who had 
never heard of Jesus and Mary. They told her 
the land to which her son would go was called 
China ; but to her peasant mind this brought 
no knowledge. Still she went to see her only 
friend, if friend he could be called, the shoemaker 
Prokop, who had travelled far and wide. “Who 
knows,” she said, “ but perhaps he has been in 
China. I will ask him.” 

Prokop was occupied in making his evening soup 


78 The Forestman of Vimpek 


when she came. He did not say positively that 
he had been there; Prokop is always discreet; 
but he told her that China was beyond the sea ; 
that the men wore pigtails, and that they were 
heathens. 

“ So Andreas is to go to China,” he said, medita- 
tively blowing the soup in his, spoon. “ Who would 
have thought of that, when he was running bare- 
footed through the village ? But, for the matter 
of that, I think we have boys who were born 
among us, in all parts of the world.” 

‘‘Poor Andreas,” said his mother; “if things 
had been different, perhaps he would have remained 
with me.” 

Prokop thought it very likely ; so he said noth- 
ing, but ate his soup in silence. 

“You will go to see him before he goes?” he 
asked her at last. 

“Yes, I will go and see him, and say farewell,” 
said the lad’s mother, “but it will be hard for me 
now. I am not as young as I used to be, and the 
way is long.” 

Prokop looked at her askance as she slowly rose 
to go. She had grown old of late, that was cer- 
tain. “You will walk, of course?” he asked, and 
she nodded. , 

“ How else could I go ? ” she asked. 


Her Two Sons 


79 


“ Well, God be with you, and remember me to 
Andreas. Tell him I wish him luck in China, — 
the best of luck.” 

The next day at dawn she started. It was hard 
for her now to walk so far, and she often rested by 
the wayside, before she reached the monastery. 
But she saw her boy and blessed him, though 
shrinking somewhat from his tonsured head and 
sombre habit. He hardly seemed to be her son, 
she had seen so little of him ; still she loved him, 
and she wept when they parted. 

She was thinking of all this, to-day, as she sat by 
the fire, drying her wet feet and -skirts ; for she had 
been in the forest gathering sticks, and it had rained 
most of the day before. She was beginning to 
feel old and weak at times, and wished she could 
sit by the fire all day instead of carrying heavy 
fagots on her back from the forest, and toiling 
every day for her daily bread, from morn till night 
for the farmers. But it was the will of God, she 
said to herself, as she stretched out her hand for 
her rosary. 

The little room was hot and she began to nod, 
more and more, in her corner, when some one 
knocked. She bade the visitor enter, thinking it 
was some neighbor. But she started up in astonish- 
ment when she saw it was the pfarrer. Hastily 


80 The Forestman of Vimpek 

dusting one of her two chairs, she bade him be 
seated, wondering in her mind what his visit could 
mean. The good pfarrer was silent for a few 
moments, as though not knowing exactly what to 
say. Then he looked at the wasted old frame 
before him, and the sorrowful face, made so by 
sorrow and care long before her time. 

“Good mother,” he said, “do you remember my 
reading a letter to you, years ago ? ” 

She nodded silently. Could she ever forget 
that letter ? 

“ I have another letter to read to you to-day,” 
he continued ; “ but this time the sorrow is mingled 
with joy. Sit down and I will read it to you,” 
he added, as he drew a large letter from his 
pocket. 

The woman trembled a little as she sat at the 
foot of her bed. What could this mean ? 

The pfarrer unfolded the letter ; then he folded 
it again. “Perhaps I had better tell you,” he 
said. “ Andreas, Andreas — ” 

“Is dead ! ” she cried, starting up. 

“ He is a blessed martyr,” said the pfarrer, 
crossing himself. “ Murdered for the faith by 
those heathen, in China.” 

“ Murdered ; murdered ? ” she said huskily, fall- 
ing back. “One a murderer; the other mur- 


Her Two Sons 


81 


dered ? O my God ! both my boys dead and I 
still alive ! ” 

“ He is a blessed martyr, and is praying for you 
before the throne of God,” the pfarrer said, con- 
solingly. “ Think of that, good mother. Andreas 
is a blessed martyr ! ” 

But it had been too much for the weary woman. 
She had fainted, and the pfarrer after hastily 
calling the neighbors to her aid, left her, first 
reporting what had happened. 

“ Her son is a blessed martyr,” said the peasants 
to one another. “ Our Andreas died for the faith, 
over there in China.” 

They were exceedingly proud now of the boy 
they had driven from among them with their 
taunts and harsh words. 

They did their best to bring the insensible 
woman to herself. At last and suddenly she 
opened her eyes ; she stretched out her arms ; 
she called in a sort of ecstasy “Jan.” Then the 
light faded from her face, and she fell back — 
dead. 

“Why did she not see her Andreas? ” asked the 
peasants of one another ; “ Andreas, who died for 
the faith, and is a blessed martyr ? ” 

But Prokop closed her eyes. “ She saw the 
one that she loved best,” he said, “ and it is well.” 


G 


CHAPTER VI 

The Match-maker 

O NE day I had letters to write, and finding 
that I had neither paper nor envelopes, I 
went into the village to Jan Marie, the school- 
master, who kept a limited stock of the necessary 
articles for sale. 

Jan Marie was not at home, but his wife was 
there, embroidering her everlasting slippers. Now 
I had often wondered what on earth she did with 
so many embroidered slippers, especially as Jan 
Marie, like the rest of us, wore slippers made of 
plaited and twisted straw, long in the toe and with- 
out any heel to speak of. I had often puzzled 
over the question till my aunt enlightened me. 
She told me that Jan Marie’s wife sold her slippers 
in Prague ; but for what, and where the money 
went to, we could not imagine. 

Jan Marie’s wife had long lived among us; but 
she was not of us, and her ways were not our 
ways. Somehow, she never seemed to be alive at 
all; and even when you stood with her, face to 
82 


The Match-maker 


83 


face, she seemed to be asking you to excuse her 
existence. For the rest, she was a little, thin, 
pale, insignificant woman, with eyes of that un- 
certain color that one never knows whether they 
are gray or hazel; her hair, too, was of a like 
dingy color. I had heard from some one — for 
she never volunteered anything herself — that she 
had been brought up in a convent and had been 
a nursery governess in a noble family when Jan 
Marie married her. So I suppose the many 
snubbings she had undergone had made her 
what she was. One day, however, in an impul- 
sive moment, she lifted the lid of a great wooden 
chest decorated with red and blue flowers, the 
sort of chest that forms part of every Bohemian’s 
furniture, and showed me the most exquisite 
embroideries. Most of them were altar cloths 
and priestly garments or chasubles, stiff with 
beautiful gold and silver embroideries ; there were, 
among them also, brides’ veils and little children’s 
dresses. But her staple work, so she told me, 
was outlining the flowers and figures in tapestry 
slippers that people bought to fill in. 

She was always at work by her little window 
that looked north, upon a stony field ; beyond the 
field the forest loomed dark and gloomy, but I 
doubt if she ever let her thoughts wander beyond 


84 The Forestman of Vimpek 


her tapestry and embroidery. Most villages have 
some mystery or some mysterious person, and 
Jan Marie’s wife was ours; not that she ever did 
or said anything out of the way, poor woman ; but 
she was, simply, so utterly different from the rest 
of our village that she did not seem to be of the 
same world. 

Then there was the mystery. If she worked so 
diligently, as we knew she did, where did the 
money go ? This was a problem that had puzzled 
wiser heads than mine in the village ; but it had 
remained unsolved. Diligently had our wise ones 
set themselves to work to ferret it out; and dis- 
creet questions had been put to the tradespeople 
in the distant town ; but nothing had come of it 
all. We saw for ourselves* how the schoolmaster 
and his wife lived — just like the rest of us ; so, 
where did the money go ? every one asked. But 
even that was not all; Jan Marie also earned a 
little extra money by carving sticks. He had a 
peculiar knack at finding queerly notched branches 
and young trees, which he carved into quaint fig- 
ures. To be sure he had given one to the pfarrer 
and one to me, on our saints’ days; but it was 
known that he had carved many more. Where 
had they disappeared to ? 

The village resented any such mystery ; but as 


The Match-maker 


»5 


neither Jan Marie or his wife ever went anywhere 
or formed any friendships, it was hard to draw the 
truth out of either of them. 

On the day in question, while I was sorting out 
the paper and envelopes to match, Jan Marie’s 
wife fidgeted around me in a way that was very 
unusual with her. After a while she asked me, 
“ Have you heard the death bird (the kujcek) call- 
ing and hooting from the schoolhouse roof ? ” 

I had not heard the bird in question and I told 
her so. 

“ I have heard him at least three times,” she 
said, “and it makes me nervous.” 

Now Jan Marie’s wife had never expressed any 
opinion or sentiment during all the years I had 
known her, and I took leave of her that day with 
a peculiar feeling of solemnity. 

I was determined to go home and write my let- 
ters at once, but I had to pass the Bohemian Lion, 
and who should be sitting there but that young 
reprobate Jaroslav Kimperc, with a couple of other 
student lads. They had dragged a rickety table 
before the house, under the shade of a beautiful 
linden tree, and there they were making merry. 
The moment Jaroslav saw me, he rushed up, his 
blond curly hair shining like a halo around his 
pleasant face, and clapping both hands on my 


86 The Forestman of Vimpek 


shoulders he said, “ Congratulate me ; I have 
passed my examination and now I am a full- 
fledged philosopher.’’ 

“God be praised, Jaroslav!” I said, “this is 
good news. Nobody wishes you better luck than 
I do, laddie. I will drink a glass of beer to your 
honor, if the young gentlemen will allow me to 
sit with them.” 

“ Assuredly,” said one of the lads, giving me his 
chair, while he went into the inn for another. 

“We were just singing round the table when 
you came,” said Jaroslav ; for you must know, it is 
a custom here in Bohemia, especially with young 
men and students, for every one who sits at the 
table to sing a song; it is generally, of course, 
a love song. If one cannot sing, or if he breaks 
down, he is expected to take his seat somewhere 
else. 

“ I think, however,” Jaroslav went on, “that we 
would have done better to remain in the inn. 
Basilius, the dohazovatsch (the match-maker, you 
remember), is there. He has such a very long 
face that I have no doubt he has weighty business 
on hand. Are there any marriageable lads or las- 
sies in your village ? ” 

“ There is the little blond one, who lives with 
Rosalia’s mother,” I replied; “but she is head 


The Match-maker 


87 


over ears in love with a lad in service at the mil- 
ler’s, and I doubt if she even cares to see the 
dohazovatsch.” 

As we were talking, the match-maker himself 
came out with the lad who had gone for the chair. 
He stood a moment, contemplating us all with, 
perhaps, an eye to business; then he seated him- 
self not far away, and waited, so it seemed to me, 
like a spider, watching for the silly fly to enter his 
web. 

He had not long to wait. A buxom girl from 
another village, with a basket on her back, came 
up the highway. Perhaps she had made an 
appointment with the match-maker at this place as 
a good one to hold a consultation in. Indeed, 
neither one seemed astonished at seeing the other, 
and the girl, putting down her basket, seated her- 
self by the dohazovatsch. At first, they spoke in 
low tones ; then, growing animated, they talked 
so that we could hear what they said. 

“ It’s such a dirty trade,” objected the girl ; “ a 
chimney-sweep ! ” 

“No worse, my daughter, than a smith, a black- 
smith for that matter,” answered the match-maker. 
“ And he is a wealthy lad.” 

“ I saw him once at the dance on St. Catherine’s 
day,” the girl said, “he has black eyes.” 


88 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ Every one cannot be as blond and good-look- 
ing as you are, my child,” said the dohazovatsch, 
with an insinuative smile. “ And then he has a 
chalupa (a cottage) ; and he has a cow and a pig. 
A well-to-do youth, I call him.” 

“ I would have preferred a blond lad,” said the 
girl, meditatively. 

‘‘Well, I have several on hand,” the match- 
maker said, in a businesslike tone. “ How would 
Tomas Swoboda do? or what do you say to Vin- 
cenc Ceeka ? They are both blonds ; and from the 
village behind the forest.” 

“ What have they got ? ” 

“They are neither of them as well-to-do as 
Kaspar, to be sure,” was the reply. “Tomas is a 
shoemaker, and Vincenc a tailor, and they each 
have about a hundred florins, more or less.” 

“ And you are sure Kaspar will get the chalupa ? ” 

“ Quite sure ; I spoke with his parents yester- 
day.” 

“ I would have preferred a blond lad. But then 
— well, I will go and have a look at the chalupa 
before I decide. Kaspar will also have a cow and 
a pig, you say ? How about geese ? ” 

“ His mother told me that the girl must bring 
the geese,” the match-maker replied. “ But I will 
try and get them to throw in some chickens.” 


The Match-maker 


89 


“ A cock and six hens, at the very least/’ said 
the girl. “ They ought to remember that it is a 
dirty trade — a chimney-sweep.” 

“His parents say it pays well,” the match-maker 
assured her ; “ and when Kaspar is washed and 
dressed he is as handsome as any lad around. 
And the chalupa is worth five hundred florins, if 
it’s worth a kreuzer.” 

“I must see the chalupa before I take any 
steps,” the girl said, rising. “ You are sure he 
will have the cow and pig ? ” 

“ Quite sure,” was the reply. “ He will have a 
brindle cow, and a black and white pig.” 

“ I wish he were a blond,” said the girl, still 
dissatisfied. “I hate lads with black eyes; they 
remind me of the devil.” 

“ Well, all the world cannot have blue eyes, you 
know ; and the lad has other advantages,” said the 
match-maker. 

“Yes,” admitted the girl. “Well, I will look at 
the chalupa, and then let you know. God be with 
you, Basilius ! ” and she took her departure. 

While we were listening to all this, we had not 
noticed Prokop, who stood near us with a pair of 
boots in his hand. But as soon as Jaroslav caught 
sight of him, he rushed to the shoemaker and told 
him the news. 


90 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ God bless you, Jaroslav ! ” said Prokop. “ Your 
parents will be pleased.” 

“ They are, Prokop,” said the youth. “ My 
mother wept with joy, and promised to fulfil her 
vow to buy the Blessed Virgin a wax candle of two 
pounds to place before her statue. I hope I may 
be able to get employment in Prague now, and 
make their lives easier. They have gone without 
many things to give me a chance, I know. I hope 
to be able to make it up to them, now they are 
getting old.” 

As we were speaking, the church-bell struck 
three times; then it began to toll. 

“Some one is dead in the village,” we said; 
but nobody knew who it was, though. “ It must 
have been sudden,” we thought. 

As long as the bell tolled we sat silent ; when it 
stopped we crossed ourselves and went on with 
our conversation. 

Basilius, the dohazovatsch, had risen, and was 
standing near us now. Catching Prokop by a 
button, he said, “ A word in your ear, my friend.” 

“ Come now, what have I to do with you ? ” 
said Prokop, eying him doubtfully. 

“You are a well-preserved man, Prokop, and 
fond of your joke.” 

“ Well, I am not yet in my dotage, that I know 


The Match-maker 


9 1 


of,” said Prokop. “ Out with your business, man. 
Do you need a pair of shoes ? ” 

“ Oh, no, Prokop,” said the dohazovatsch, put- 
ting one finger to his nose, and contemplating the 
shoemaker admiringly; “it’s quite a different 
matter.” 

“A pair of boots, perhaps? Well, I have no 
time to make them, either. Go to some one else,” 
said Prokop. 

The dohazovatsch removed his finger from his 
nose, and beamed sweetly upon Prokop. Then, 
smiling benignly all around at each one of us in 
turn, he said : “ Such a witty man as Prokop is ! 
A treasure of a man, a real treasure ! ” 

“Treasure or no treasure, out with your busi- 
ness, man,” growled Prokop. 

“A word in your ear, Prokop; a word in your 
ear, friend.” 

“No word in my ears at all; I’ll not have it. 
You can shout on the housetops all you have to 
say to me,” declared Prokop, decidedly. 

“ Oh, but, Prokop, a matter of the heart ? ” 

“ I have no heart,” said Prokop. “ I got rid of 
that unnecessary appendage years ago.” 

“A jewel of a man!” said the dohazovatsch. 
“Then we can get down to business at once. 
Come now, what do you say to a widow ? ” 


92 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


“Toa what ? ” said Prokop. 

“A widow, a most desirable widow, I assure 
you; another jewel in the matrimonial market,” 
said the match-maker. 

“ And what do you want me to do with 
your widow, I should like to know ? ” growled 
Prokop. 

“Why, marry her, of course, foolish man,” said 
the match-maker. 

“And who told you I wanted to marry any 
one?” demanded Prokop. “Pm in love with 
liberty; that is what I am in love with, and not 
your desirable widows.” 

“ O fie, fie, Prokop ! ” cried the match-maker. 
“ I put my head inside your window some time 
ago, and I saw with regret that it was in dreadful 
disorder. You need some one to look after you. 
A buxom person of middle age, and with only one 
child she is ; a talkative, sociable creature ; she 
would cheer you up a bit. I assure you she’s a 
most desirable widow.” 

“ It is well I did not catch you, Basilius, with 
your head in my window spying out my domestic 
matters, or your good looks might have been 
spoiled for a season with a black eye or broken 
nose,” said Prokop. “I don’t want your desirable 
widow, I tell you ; but if you will buy me a mug 


The Match-maker 


93 * 

of beer I will tell you where you can do a stroke 
of business.” 

“Come now, Prokop; why don’t you want to 
marry this respectable widow?” persisted the 
match-maker. 

“ Because I don’t, and that’s enough,” said 
Prokop, obstinately. 

“ Did any one ever see such an unreasonable 
man ? ” cried the dohazovatsch, turning toward us. 

“ I propose to him a desirable widow, I can say a 
most desirable widow, and he don’t want her ! 
What is the world coming to, I should like to 
know ? ” 

“ I don’t want your widow, and I won’t have 
her,” said Prokop; “but I will tell you who will, 
— that is, if your widow is nearly as desirable as 
you say, which I much doubt, Basilius, knowing 
you of old. But you must buy me first a mug of 
beer, or I am dumb.” 

“You are joking, Prokop.” 

“ I am not. These gentlemen are witnesses.” 

The dohazovatsch looked at us carefully, as 
though mentally casting up our good points for 
further use. Then he said, brightening up, 
“Well, Prokop, if you are in earnest, I will buy 
the beer. Josef ! a mug of beer,” he ordered. 

The innkeeper came with the tin mug, and 


94 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


Prokop and the dohazovatsch having drawn up 
their chairs to our table, began business. 

“ Now tell me, Basilius, what does this desirable 
widow with one child want?” asked the shoe- 
maker. “ Be explicit, my friend.” 

“ She is religious, and wishes a devout, moral 
young man, with a good trade,” was the reply; 
“one, who, if possible, has a small store that she 
could attend to, while he went about his business. 
She is a good cook, and was in service to a grocer 
in the town; she has a little money that she has 
saved up, and is an economical, cheerful person.” 

“Very good,” said Prokop. “Now I know of 
an exemplary young man. He has bright red 
hair and greenish eyes, but that has nothing to 
do with the matter in hand. He is a carpenter by 
trade, and has a small store ; and, over and above 
that, he is a sign-painter and a manufacturer of 
axe handles. Would that do?” 

“ If he is moral, and has about a hundred florins, 
he would do very well, Prokop,” said the match- 
maker. “ If the marriage comes off, I will give 
you a trifle for your information. Who is he ? ” 

“ I want nothing at all, Basilius, for my informa- 
tion,” said the shoemaker. “ My chief pleasure 
in life is to bring together congenial souls. The 
young man is Hynek, who lives opposite me. He 


The Match-maker 


95 


is a deserving young man with an eye to matri- 
mony. And he’s morality itself ! Am I not speak- 
ing the truth, gentlemen?” and Prokop turned his 
white eyes toward us. 

“ But the store, Prokop, the store ? ” said the 
match-maker. 

“ Why ! you must be blind not to have seen the 
sign, Basilius,” Prokop replied; “a tasteful thing, 
in red and white.” 

“ When I was up your way, the last time, there 
was no sign. He must have gone into business 
quite lately ? ” the match-maker remarked. 

“ Oh, yes ; and he has my patronage.” 

“ Really ? Then I must go and have a look at 
the premises,” said the match-maker. “ And do 
you think he would marry a widow ? He is quite 
a young man, if I remember right.” 

“ Young in years, but old in tastes,” replied 
Prokop. “ I know he would not object to a widow, 
for he told me that he would prefer a settled per- 
son to a flighty young girl ; one who knows how 
to cook properly, and could make him comfortable, 
and who would attend to the store while he 
paints.” 

“ A model young man ! And what does he 
paint, Prokop ? Windows and doors ? ” queried 
the match-maker. 


96 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ Everything that belongs to a carpenter’s work,” 
Prokop replied ; “ then, too, he gilds the crosses on 
the tombstones (for as you know the Christ on our 
cross is always gilt; the cross, itself, is of black 
iron); and he paints coffins, also, and pictures of 
the saints, when he has nothing better to do.” 

“ Oh, an exceptional young man ! She will be 
delighted ! And moral you say?” cried the match- 
maker. 

“ Oh, morality, yes ; and virtue itself ! ” said 
Prokop, unblushingly, rolling his eyes to heaven. 

The dohazovatsch paused a moment ; then, he 
said, meditatively, “ This Hynek has not been 
making love to any one who jilted him, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“ He never made love to any one in his life, that 
I know of,” said Prokop; “he’s in love with him- 
self — that’s who he’s in love with, Basilius.” 

“Because, this widow,” said the match-maker, 
“she’s — well — she’s a bit jealous, you know; you 
understand women, Prokop; they have their ideas.” 

Prokop closed one eye and winked with the other, 
as though his knowledge of the sex was unlimited, 
and Basilius went on. 

“She is a most desirable widow, as I told you,” 
the match-maker said; “but she has a bit of a 
temper, and is giving to throwing things about and 


The Match-maker 


97 


making it rather lively if matters do not go as she 
likes.” 

“We all have our little weaknesses, Basilius,” 
said Prokop, calmly ; “ the best of us are not 
saints.” 

“ Exactly,” said the dohazovatsch. “ I am glad 
you take such a practical view of the subject, 
Prokop. As you are his nearest neighbor, it is 
very likely he may ask your advice. Now, you 
can give him a hint that the world is not faultless, 
and that every one has some little weaknesses. As 
you said, yourself, we are none of us perfect.” 

“ Basilius,” said Prokop, “set your mind at ease; 
when your widow begins making things lively, 
Hynek will make them still more lively ; he is an 
athletic young man, with a fist of iron.” 

“ Then they will get along beautifully, after a 
few first scuffles,” said the match-maker. “ I must 
go and see his establishment at once. One must 
not lose the chance of making the acquaintance of 
such a virtuous young man. I’m obliged to you, 
Prokop, for telling me about him. It was a friendly 
act ; I will remember you when the wedding comes 
off.” And Basilius took his departure. 

I am sorry to say that Prokop stuck his tongue 
into his cheek in a knowing way; then, turning 
his mug upside down, he picked up his boots, and 

H 


98 The Forestman of Vimpek 

bidding us “ God’s peace ” went his way, too, down 
the hot and dusty highway. 

“ Well,” said Jaroslav ; “ there is a go ! ” 

He probably expressed our opinion ; but no one 
said anything more, and the lads began singing 
again, and drinking their beer. 

Remembering my letters, I took leave of them 
and turned homeward. The forest was cool and 
dark after the hot and dusty highway, and I wan- 
dered on, past patches of partridge berries, red 
as coral, and ferns and grasses, that grew luxu- 
riantly wherever a little sunlight could creep in. 
It was so very beautiful, my forest with its cool 
shade, the low music of the wind through its 
branches, and the silent companionship of the 
trees ! Then my thoughts wandered to one who 
had accompanied me once, on this same path, 
and whom I then had dared to dream would be 
my companion for life. But the good God had 
transplanted her to a brighter world in her girl- 
hood, where I hope, whatever else may meet my 
enraptured gaze when I shall get there, that for- 
ests dark and mysterious as these of mine on 
earth will meet my sight. 


CHAPTER VII 


A New Store 


(3 

* 

J 


I T was a beautiful summer day, the last of Au- 
gust. The hills were almost shut out by the 
mist, and the spiders’ webs hung everywhere, as I 
went down the path that led to the village. I had 
bought a new axe in the town, and I was going to 
Hynek, the carpenter, to make me the handle. 
Then, too, what Prokop told the match-maker had 
made me curious, and I determined to take a look 
at Hynek’s new sign. 

Through an opening in the trees I could look 
down the highway, and whom should I see com- 
ing along the road but Farmer Mlejnek’s Annie. 
I had not seen the girl for months ; so I hurried 
down the path to meet her. 

“ Praised be the name of Jesus, Annie! ” I said 
in greeting ; “ and what happy chance brings 
you our way?” 

“To the end of the ages!” she responded to 
my greeting. “ It is no lucky chance that brings 
me here. I am on my way to the town.” 

99 


ioo The Forestman of Vimpek 


As I looked at the girl, I saw that her face was 
pale and drawn, and then I remembered that her 
father had not even waited a year before he 
brought her home a stepmother. 

“ And how is it you are going alone ? ” I asked. 
“ Is every one at home well ? ” 

“ Yes, they are all well enough — those that are 
at home,” Annie replied. “ But my eldest brother 
has gone to Prague to work, you know, and I am 
going to service in the town.” 

The cat was out of the bag now, and I under- 
stood it all. The sons and daughters of Bohemian 
farmers never go out to service if they can possi- 
bly avoid it, and things at home must have been 
hard beyond endurance, or the girl would never 
have taken such a step. 

I did not know what to say to her ; so I began 
to tell her of the delights of the town to which she 
was going, and what a splendid time she would 
have ; I told her, too, how wise it was of her to 
decide to see something of the world, instead of 
vegetating in the forest like the rest of us. I 
talked so well and with such energy that, when 
we entered the village, I almost began to believe 
some of my own lies. 

Annie looked pale and weary, and I knew she 
had been on foot for hours, carrying on her back 


A New Store 


IOI 


the heavy basket that contained all her wardrobe. 
I would willingly have asked her to go with me 
to the Bohemian Lion and rest awhile with a 
glass of beer, if I had not known she would shrink 
from the questions of the friendly innkeeper and 
his inquisitive wife. So we wandered through the 
village without stopping, until we reached the far- 
ther end where Jan Anderlik’s mother used to live, 
but which, as you have heard, was now occupied 
by the carpenter, Hynek. Nearly opposite was 
Prokop’s residence, and the shoemaker was just 
piling his fagots against the south side of his hut 
as we came up. 

“ One has four months of summer to eight of 
winter in this delightful village,” said Prokop ; “I 
am getting ready for winter.” 

“ It’s no worse than any other village round 
about here, Prokop,” I said ; “ and we may have a 
beautiful autumn yet, before the winter sets in.” 

Prokop looked at me deprecatingly, and then 
turned his attention to my companion. 

“ If you are going to the town, Annie,” he said, 
“ you might bring me some snuff — about five 
kreuzer’s worth.” 

“ I’m going to the town, true enough, Prokop,” 
the girl replied ; “ but I am going to service there, 
and I could not bring you back the snuff.” 


ioi The Forestman of Vimpek 

Prokop stopped piling his fagots and whistled 
softly. He was not given to whistling, and it 
struck us both with awe. I do not think that it 
was any tune in particular, for Prokop had no ear 
for music, and he had often assured me that he 
could not tell one tune from another (though I 
did not believe this — no Bohemian would). Still 
the tune sounded spiteful, all the same. But 
whatever it was, it seemed to have afforded him 
the greatest satisfaction, for he turned his white 
eyes upon us with unusual amiability, and invited 
us both to take coffee with him. 

If it had not been for Annie, I would not have 
accepted the shoemaker’s invitation, for I had not 
much relish for drinking coffee of his making; 
but I knew the girl was weary and perhaps hun- 
gry as well ; so we entered, and I helped her to 
put down her basket. Prokop’s room was in a 
little better order than the match-maker had re- 
ported, but the leathery smell was there, and I 
made bold to open the window. 

Prokop started a fire, and produced a tin coffee- 
pot from heaven knows where ! He also brought 
out a mortar in which he pounded the coffee, not 
having, I suppose, such a thing as a coffee-mill in 
his possession. Annie would have assisted him, 
but he waved her away majestically; so she seated 


A New Store 


103 


herself on the very edge of one of his rickety 
chairs and contemplated him, while I took posses- 
sion of the other. 

As he pounded the coffee, he whistled an accom- 
paniment, puckering up his lips, and twisting his 
eyes in a manner that was truly wonderful. At 
last, having pounded the coffee to his entire satis- 
faction, and put it on the fire, he told us to wait 
for him while he went over to Hynek’s to get 
some milk, as he did not possess a goat himself. 
He disappeared, but he was soon back again with 
a mug of milk, and some lumps of sugar in a bit 
of brown paper. He cleared the table with a 
sweeping stroke of his arm, which sent everything 
off to the floor, and then bade us draw up our 
chairs, while he hunted about for spoons. His 
hunt was successful, and he carefully placed 
before us two mugs, one a bright red and the 
other a blue, with the spoons, and begged us to 
help ourselves. Then he disappeared again, but 
returned in a few minutes, with half a loaf of 
very dry black rye bread and a clasp-knife. This 
dainty he placed before us, and then, with his 
sweetest smile, bade us regale ourselves, as though 
he were offering us broiled partridge with truffles, 
or, at the very least, a Strasburg pastete. 

The knife was dull and the bread was dry and 


104 The Forestman of Vimpek 


hard as a stone ; Annie cut off a very thin slice 
with difficulty, and then I cut an even smaller slice, 
while Prokop, from his seat on the edge of his 
bed, where he was drinking his coffee from a tin 
pint, glared at us now and then in his usual ungra- 
cious way. 

While we were enjoying his hospitality, with as 
good grace as we could muster on such short 
notice, I more than hnce caught the shoemaker’s 
eye lingering on his books, and then turning 
toward us with reproach and indignation. I have 
no doubt he was thinking how degenerate we 
were, and what a feast this that he had provided 
us would have been to Diogenes or some other 
of his favored friends, who preferred to live in 
tubs and regaled themselves on carrots or some 
such vegetables. 

Our banquet over, we began a little friendly 
conversation, and Annie thawed out enough to 
tell us that her stepmother was making it rather 
too hot at home, and that she preferred to eat the 
bread of strangers. Getting up, she said, “ I have 
brought you something, Prokop, that I meant to 
leave for you with Hynek, the carpenter; but 
since I am here, I will give it to you myself.” 

She went to her basket, while Prokop glared at 
her in anything but a friendly way, for he was not 


A New Store 


io 5 




fond of receiving presents. She took out the few 
underclothes, stockings, skirts, and jackets that 
comprised her wardrobe, and then carefully lifted 
out a bundle of papers. “ It is mother’s Agri- 
culturist t Prokop. I thought you would like to 
keep it for her sake. They wished to kindle the 
fire with it at home.” There was a quiver in the 
girl’s voice that I had never heard before, and 
she turned her back upon us as she placed the 
bundle on the table. 

“Come now, Annie,” said Prokop, jumping up 
and going to the table ; “ I call that kind ! Y ou 
know I thought the world of your mother. She 
was a good woman, and a clever one. I was so 
glad that she lingered on till you could congratu- 
late her upon getting the prize. I wish I could 
have done so.” 

“You were the only one who would have con- 
gratulated her, Prokop, and it is kind of you. She 
would have thought a deal of it, I know. Oh, I 
did not understand my mother ; and now it is too 
late, too late ; ” and Annie threw her apron over 
her head and broke out sobbing. 

“ We do not any of us exactly understand one 
another, child,” Prokop said, very gently, to the 
crying girl. “ Rest assured, she knows all about 
it now, and is happy.” 


io6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ If I had only known ! If I had only known ! ” 
moaned the girl. 

“Yes, that’s the trouble! If one only knew,” 
sighed Prokop. 

The girl’s face was hidden in her apron, and 
Prokop had his back turned toward me. I put 
my hand in the girl’s basket and drew out her 
mass book. Placing a five-florin note in it, I 
fastened the clasp, and twisting about it a bit of 
Prokop’s twine that I found on the floor, I put 
the book back again. I felt sure they had sent 
the girl out into the world without a kreuzer. 

Wishing them both “ God’s peace ! ” I slipped 
out, feeling convinced that she was in the best 
of care and thinking how a few kind words of 
appreciation sometimes do more good to help 
a fellow-man or woman than any amount of 
advice or money. 

* * * * * 

I walked across the way to Hynek’s cottage, 
— the little house that had once belonged to Jan 
Anderlik’s mother. It was so changed that I 
scarcely recognized it. I suppose it was because 
I had been talking with Annie that I had for- 
gotten all about the new sign “ Kuprecke Zboze ” 
(groceries) that Hynek had put up. There it was ; 
and I stood and stared around me in amazement. 


A New Store 


107 


Jan Anderlik’s mother had lived entirely in the 
little back room that looked out on the forest; 
but Hynek lived in state in the front room, and 
between the two small windows he had hung his 
enormous sign in red, and with white letters, — 
which are, you know, the Bohemian colors. 

On one side of the open door was a sort of 
handle with a wire attachment, which I presume 
was a bell. But who on earth, I wondered, ever 
made use of it? Having prepared myself for 
unknown wonders, I boldly entered and rapped 
at the door of Hy nek’s room. A sort of a grunt 
answered my rap, and I entered; but even with 
all my preparation, I was not prepared for the 
sight that met my astonished gaze. Hynek was 
in his shirt-sleeves, and hard at work ; but he was 
not carpentering — oh, no! nor was he selling his 
wares. He was at work painting at something 
which, at first, I supposed was a sign-board. 

The smell of turpentine was overpowering, and 
the room was rather dark, at best; but as my 
eyes grew accustomed to the light, I saw a 
horrible scene. I supposed at once that it could 
be nothing else but the end of the world. Flames, 
red and yellow, seemed to be breaking out every- 
where, and there were many dark spots which at 
first I supposed were trees, but which on careful 


to8 The Forestman of Vimpek 


inspection I found to be devils. I contemplated 
this work of art with open mouth ; the fear of hell 
and purgatory made my rather stiff hair stand on 
end, but my heart sank into my boots, as I 
thought of my axe handle. 

Hynek was so intent on his masterpiece that I 
do not think he even knew I was behind him until 
I coughed discreetly, and then kicked one of his 
wooden shoes. 

He turned round and looked at me in a bewil- 
dered way. I knew that good manners required 
me to admire his work, so I said in my sweetest 
voice : — 

“ Another masterwork, Hynek ? ” 

“ It’s very effective, don’t you think so ? ” he 
inquired. 

“ Very ! ” said I. Doubtless I looked amazed 
enough even to please him, for he said, proudly, 
“You never would have thought I could have 
painted such a picture as that, would you ? ” 

“Never!” I declared with great warmth, and 
sincerely hoping he never would again, but would 
remain at his carpentering. 

“ Well, it does take the life out of a fellow,” he 
said, wiping his forehead with the back of his left 
hand. 

“ It’s a scene in purgatory, you know,” he 


A New Store 


109 


explained. “ I have not spared the red color, 
although it is the dearest.” 

I half closed my eyes, and tried to appear lost 
in admiration, while I inquired for whom he was 
painting this picture and if it was for any one in 
our village ? 

“ Bless you, no ! They are all far too stupid 
here to appreciate such a work. It’s for Miss 
Klobas in the next village. She has a reprobate 
nephew, you know; and she said to me, with 
tears in her eyes, ‘O Hynek,’ she said ‘don’t 
spare the tortured souls any agony that you can 
paint ; perhaps it will touch his heart, and I will 
gladly pay you a florin more if it is very horrible.’ ” 

Miss Klobas was a maiden lady of discreet 
years, who, instead of the traditional cats, kept 
half a dozen poodles, that yelped and snapped at 
the heels of every passer-by. She was the daugh- 
ter of a deceased postmaster and lived on a very 
small pension, paid every month. 

“ What is she going to give you for this work of 
art, Hynek ? ” I asked, curiosity getting the better 
of my manner. 

“ Well,” said Hynek, “ I told her I would do it 
for three florins. But if you count the tin that it’s 
painted on, and the cost of paint, it’s dirt cheap at 
that.” 


no The Forestman of Vimpek 

“Don’t you think,” I said, insinuatingly, “that 
if you stuck to your carpentering you would do 
better ? I need an axe handle.” 

“ I have a lot of axe handles on hand in the 
next room. They’re about the only thing that 
any one asks for in this God-forsaken village,” said 
Hynek. “ Pick out one that suits you ; you must 
see for yourself that I have no time to attend to 
such things, for my turpentine is drying up, and 
this work must be finished.” 

I went into the next room, and from a heap that 
lay in one corner hunted out an axe handle to my 
mind. I would have paid him and departed, but 
Hynek’s soul was disturbed, and he called me back. 

“ Do you think it’s horrible ? ” he asked. 

“ Undescribably horrible,” I answered. 

“ Do you think it will turn that young man’s 
soul to the truth ? ” 

“ What young man ? ” I asked. 

“ Why, the reprobate nephew of Miss Klobas in 
the next village.” 

“ Who is he, anyway, Hynek ? ” I asked. 

“ Don’t you know ? ” the artist replied. “ Why, 
Jaroslav Kimperc ; the good-for-nothing who writes 
poetry, and courted our Katerina, who married 
Vavra, the miller’s son.” 

“ Dear saints and blessed archangels ! ” I cried. 


A New Store 


1 1 1 


“ So he is the reprobate, is he ? Worry yourself 
no more, Hynek,” I said; “it is lost work; you 
will never convert this young man. He is in love 
with nature and the works of God.” 

“ I don’t care a rap what he is in love with,” 
said Hynek, “ if I only get my extra florin. And 
it is horrible enough, I think. You said so, your- 
self, a few moments ago.” 

“ It is, Hynek ; your greatest enemy could not 
prove it otherwise,” I replied, casting a searching 
glance about me. 

On a shelf, near the window, in a glass were a 
few cakes of yellow soap and two or three boxes 
of blacking. In another jar were round balls — I 
was not sure whether they were marbles, or some 
kind of sweetmeats that one comes across occa- 
sionally, as hard as marbles, and, I should fancy, 
quite as indigestible. From this stock in trade 
my eyes wandered again to Hynek in his shirt- 
sleeves, hard at work on the flames. 

“ Do you sell many of these things, Hynek ? ” 
I asked, at a moment when he had fallen back 
a few steps to get a better view of the confla- 
gration. 

“ Why, yes, now and then,” he answered. 
“ Everything is hard in the beginning, you know, 
and the store is rather out of the way ; but Prokop 


1 12 The Forestman of Vimpek 


bought sugar for five kreuzers to-day, and, yester- 
day I sold a cake of soap for two kreuzers.” 

“ Bravo ! you are doing finely,” I said. Then I 
bade him, “ God’s peace ! ” and went away, leaving 
Hynek at work on a fiery cloud. 

As I went home through the village, I met the 
pfarrer’s housekeeper with a long stick, driving a 
very unwilling goose before her. 

“ It is a present from Katerina’s father,” she 
said. “ The pfarrer wrote some letters for him ; 
he’s trying to get a free place for one of his boys 
at school. I am going to fatten her up for St. 
Wenzel’s day.” 

“ She will need a great deal of fattening, I am 
thinking,” said I, as I looked at the scraggy fowl, 
which had stopped and was squawking and hissing 
at us. 

“ It’s better than nothing, and that is all,” said 
the housekeeper. 

“ I have just come from Hynek’s store,” I said, 
hoping I had been the first to discover the estab- 
lishment. But I was mistaken. 

“ Hynek is an enterprising young man, and has 
an eye for color,” the housekeeper said ; “but he 
ought to sell his soap to consumptive people.” 

Not understanding her point, I asked the house- 
keeper to explain herself. 


A New Store 


“Yesterday I went to his store to buy two 
kreuzer’s worth of soap,” she replied. “ I did not 
need it at all ; but I wanted to encourage the lad, 
and see what he had. Well! that soap scented 
our house with turpentine. You would have sup- 
posed you were in the middle of the forest on a 
very hot day. And that’s where the doctors send 
their consumptive patients, you know, so that they 
may have them off their hands in the summer, 
when the fevers and cholera are about. Hynek 
might have quite a trade in that way for his soap.” 

This was, indeed, a new view of the subject, 
and I was about to inquire into it further ; but 
the goose, who, I suppose, was tired of listening 
to us and heard her companions not far away, 
broke into a run, and flew by us, chased by the 
housekeeper. Finding myself alone on the high- 
way, I continued my walk homeward, meditating 
on many subjects. 


z 


CHAPTER VIII 


Rosalia 


OU heard me speak of the little blond girl 



who lives with Rosalia’s mother; but did I 


ever tell you why she lives there or who Rosalia 
was? No? And yet Rosalia Werich was a cele- 
brated person — most celebrated. 

Did you never hear of what a renowned singer 
she became, after she left us ? Ah, most renowned ! 
Why, we have read of her often in the Prague 
papers; even in the Vienna papers. Yes, yes, she 
made her mark in the world, did Rosalia. And 
now — well, well, God is good, and knows best. 

What about her ? Well, I will tell you. But it 
is a sad story, for us of Rosalia’s village. 

I was walking alone one day, a year or so ago, 
not far from the highway, when I saw the doctor’s 
buggy coming along. Now, the doctor is a friend 
of mine, an old, old friend, and I went out of my 
way to meet him. He stopped his white mare 
when he saw me, and we began to talk. Naturally 
I asked him what brought him our way, and 


Rosalia 


ll 5 


he told me that “ Rosalia Werich had come 
home. To die, I understand,” he added. 

“To die!” I exclaimed. For Rosalia, as I have 
told you, was the pride of our village. She was 
an opera singer of great reputation who had sung 
(of course, under an Italian name) all over Europe. 
We had read of her triumphs in the papers, at the 
Bohemian Lion, and we had been proud of her to 
think that she did us so much credit. 

“Yes, I suppose it must be very bad with her, 
or they would not have sent for me,” and here the 
doctor smiled rather a sad smile. “ They generally 
send for me when it is too late. You know how 
it was with Barbara Mlejnek, Farmer Mlej nek’s 
wife, and why she died.” 

I remembered it and soberly shook my head. 

“ Yes,” he continued, “ Barbara too, might have 
been saved if they had only sent for me at once; 
but they doctored her without me for weeks. 
Every one tried a hand at it, as the custom is, and 
when I was sent for nothing could be done to save 
her. As far as I know, though, I do not think 
Barbara was sorry to die. Her husband was a 
churl, who never appreciated her and who 
speedily married again, and I do not believe that 
Barbara had an easy life. Now, with Rosalia, it 
is different.” 


ii 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ Yes, with Rosalia, of course it is otherwise/’ I 
said. “ But what is the matter with her ? She 
cannot be more than twenty-five, and she comes of 
a good stock.” 

“ I do not quite know; one can never say till 
one sees the patient,” the doctor answered. “ Her 
mother, poor woman, told me she had broken a 
blood-vessel while singing, and that the doctors 
said there were other complications.” 

“This is a terrible blow for her mother; and 
we were all so proud of Rosalia ! ” I said. “ But, 
perhaps you can pull her through, doctor.” 

“ It is probably too late, my friend,” he replied. 
“When the great city doctors failed, and when 
they told her to go home and drink milk and 
that perhaps the country air would strengthen 
her, they were telling her politely that she was 
doomed. But I shall do what I can.” 

I knew that he would, as I watched him disap- 
pear in a cloud of dust. But he was right, of 
course. Rosalia had received every advice before 
she came home to die. 

Later in the day, when I passed her mother’s 
straw-thatched cottage, I paused to ask how Rosa- 
lia was. 

“Weary, weary, after the journey,” said the 
mother. “ But, to-morrow, she will be better. Oh, 


Rosalia 


“7 


yes, the fresh air and the milk will cure her. 
Why, look at me! I will soon be sixty-six, and 
see how strong I am, though I am a little lame, 
and cannot see as well as I used to. Oh, our 
village is a healthy place to live in.” 

While she was telling me all this so readily, I 
saw the dreary look in her dim eyes. Poor woman, 
she was trying to hope against hope, as do so 
many of us. For Rosalia was the youngest of 
fourteen children now scattered all over the world, 
but mostly in America. She was the only stay 
and support of this poor old woman. 

Later on, I heard through others that the doc- 
tor had given her six weeks in which to die. 

“She will never outlive that time,” he had said. 

Poor Rosalia! So this was to be the end! I 
could remember her as a little blond-headed child 
driving home the geese, then as a bronze-haired 
maiden of fifteen, going to visit an uncle in Prague, 
who had some humble position at the opera. After 
that, we heard she had developed a beautiful voice, 
and that some one had been found to advance her 
the money for her musical studies. And then, at 
last, we read of her in the papers, and we all knew 
that she had become a great singer. At first, she 
wrote often to her mother, and sent her small 
sums of money; then the letters became rarer, 


1 1 8 The Forestman of Vimpek 


though she sent home larger sums; but she never 
came to see her mother, and the poor peasant 
woman, worried at first, took it at last as a matter 
of course. Her daughter was a great lady, she 
said — she could not understand what it was to 
be an opera singer, never having been in an opera- 
house or a theatre in her life. Rosalia lived with 
the quality, she told us ; of course it was natural 
she should hate the little, stupid mountain village 
where she was born. 

Years went by, but Rosalia never forgot to send 
her mother remittances ; now the old peasant could 
afford to drink coffee every day, and to have a bit 
of meat for the soup now and then. Often and 
often, as I passed her garden gate, she would talk 
to me of Rosalia — how good, how talented she 
was, how held in honor by all the world. I had 
been glad to hear all this of the little bronze- 
haired girl I had known. And now it had come 
to this ! 

Some days after, I saw Rosalia. She was sit- 
ting in the little garden before the house, propped 
up by pillows, and was being entertained by 
Prokop, while her mother sat on a stool not far 
away, praying with her rosary. They were talk- 
ing about the cities where she had sung, and that 
Prokop knew as well as she did, and they all 


Rosalia 


119 

seemed very contented and happy as I came up. 
I had brought her a few rare mushrooms that I 
had found in the forest. Sick people have all 
kinds of fancies, you know, and I thought she 
might like my mushrooms. 

She thanked me in her low, sweet voice. 

“ Every one is so kind,” she said. “ The pfarrer 
sent me a glass jar of his precious honey, the 
% teacher brought in his finest currants, and now 
Prokop, here, has offered me his books to read. 
Really, you are all very kind in my own village.” 

I looked at the pale face that I had not seen for 
years, and I knew the doctor was right. It was 
too late for the mountain air to bring back health 
to those wan cheeks and brilliant eyes; the girl 
was dying rapidly, of that there was no doubt. 

They were all very kind to her, as she had said. 
There was not one in the village who did not say 
a cheering word or bring a small gift to the patient 
girl sitting there in the garden, bolstered up in an 
old arm-chair that had been lent her by the pfarrer. 
And those who went on the yearly pilgrimage to 
the Holy Mountain promised the poor, lame, and 
half-blind old mother to pray to Our Lady of Sor- 
rows at Pribram for her sick daughter. 

My business led me often to the village about 
this time, and I could not help wondering, as I 


120 The Forestman of Vimpek 

looked at Rosalia, if her thoughts ever went back 
to the time when she ran about after the geese 
and goats, barefooted, like the little girls she saw 
pass her mother’s cottage every day. Suppose she 
had stayed here among us, I wondered, and had 
lived our life, worked in the fields in summer from 
sunrise to sunset for twenty kreuzers, in heat and 
in dust, with the pitiless sun burning down on her 
head; or suppose she had carried heavy fagots 
from the forest, almost bent double with the load, 
as she had often seen her mother do in the bygone 
years; how would it have been with her? She 
would have married, of course, — this girl with 
the dark hazel eyes, and the beautiful bronze-gold 
hair; it might have been some clodhopper who 
followed the plough, or a wood-cutter in the forest, 
as her father had been, whose only ambition was 
to possess a cow, and be able to have a pipe 
always in his mouth, with the luxury of a glass 
of beer on the saints’ days. And children would 
have been born to her — little blond heads that 
would have nestled on her breast, and baby hands 
that stroked her hair and lisped her name. Would 
she have been happier ? Who can tell ? 

Often I caught her hazel eyes looking wistfully 
at the mountains and forests that surrounded our 
village. Was she thinking of the time when 




Rosalia 


iai 


she had climbed the highest peaks in search of 
mushrooms and berries to sell in the next town, or 
was she recalling the triumphs she had enjoyed 
in the far-away cities beyond those mountain 
peaks ? Did she regret the past, the praises and 
the storms of applause that met her everywhere ? 
The high-born people she met must have been 
so different from those she now saw every day. 

“ Poor girl, is she weary of it all ? ” I said to 
myself ; “ will not death, perhaps, be a relief, and 
may not Rosalia, after all, be glad to go ‘where 
pain is dumb ’ ? ” 

Whatever she thought she never said anything ; 
neither did she read Prokop’s books, nor the 
“ Lives of the Saints ” that the pfarrer had brought 
her ; but she would chatter by the hour with the 
chubby little children who soon learned that she 
was their friend, and who brought her handfuls 
of wild flowers, to persuade her to tell them 
stories. 

And she did not disappoint them. Wonderful 
stories of enchanted princesses that only a brave 
knight could deliver, she would tell them, and all 
about dreadful wizards who dwelt in dark forests, 
just like our own, and who did wonderful things, 
with only a wave of their wands. I often listened 
to her stories ; but it seemed to me, that, some- 


122 


The Forestman of Vimpek 


how, the right knight did not always disenchant 
the right princess, or he proved faithless just at the 
critical moment, while the poor princess remained 
undelivered, wandering about as a dove or rooted 
to the spot as a tree or a stone. But even her 
mother would forget her praying, and let the 
rosary fall in her lap, while she listened to Rosa- 
lia’s stories ; then, with a start, she would rouse 
herself suddenly and begin to tell her beads with 
renewed vigor. For what was she praying ? That 
a miracle might be wrought, and her girl get well ? 
or that she might have a happy death and a 
blessed resurrection ? 

There was not much conversation between the 
mother and her daughter ; peasants rarely speak, 
except about everyday subjects. And what had 
these two in common ? But, truly, they loved one 
another in their undemonstrative fashion. 

Then there came a time when the brave young 
girl could not sit up at all, but had to lie quietly 
all day on the old bed in which she was born, and 
stare before her at the crucifix nailed on the 
whitewashed wall, or at the black rafters above 
her head. It was a little room, such as the wood- 
cutters have in our part of the world. The stove, 
with the oven for bread, took up the larger part ; 
besides this there were two beds, a dresser, a table, 


Rosalia 


12 3 


and a few chairs, all of the simplest kind, but 
scrubbed as white as snow. 

Pictures were on the walls — bright chromos of 
Christ and his Blessed Mother, and St. John as a 
little boy, with his crook and lamb. Then, by the 
door, there was a china cross to hold the holy 
water, and a bunch of catkins and leaves, blessed 
at the last Easter, and tied with blooming flowers, 
and if things were humble they were clean and 
cheerful.. 

The pfarrer came every day to see Rosalia ; so, 
too, did the teacher whose favorite pupil she had 
been, and whom, a few days before she died, I 
found in tears, sitting on a bench in the little 
garden. The doctor also called every few days, 
not in a professional way but only as a friend, he 
told the mother, carelessly. He knew she had no 
money to waste on doctors when the case was 
hopeless. Rosalia had put all her savings in the 
hands of the pfarrer when she first came home ; 
there was enough, she knew, to keep her mother in 
her simple way for a few years without going on 
the parish. If the good mother should die before 
the money was used up, it was to be divided 
between masses for her soul and the poor. Every- 
thing was in order ; there was nothing to do now, 
but lie quietly and await the end. Prokop, who 


i24 The Forestman of Vimpek 


never could remain in his room and cobble, when 
any one he liked was sick, sat talking to her by 
the hour, and he would read to her out of his 
Bible, while she stroked the cat and the kittens, 
who lay on her bed. The little clock ticked 
busily, and the poor mother would drop tears on 
her rosary, as she listened to what Prokop read : — 

“ In my Father’s house are many mansions ; if 
it were not so, I would have told you. I go to 
prepare a place for you.” 

It was all very calm and peaceful even to the 
end, and when we heard the village bell tolling one 
beautiful summer morning, when our mountains 
and forest were at their fairest, we knew that 
Rosalia’s soul had gone to her Maker, and that 
the beautiful voice of which we had read so much, 
but which we had never heard, was now singing 
among the seraphim and cherubim. 


CHAPTER IX 


A Saunter through Our Village 

I NEEDED a new leather strap for my gun, 
one day ; so I thought I would go to Pro- 
kop, and get him to cut one for me ; he was skil- 
ful in such things ; indeed he was a sort of 
Jack-at-all-trades. As I sauntered through the 
village I met the pfarrer’s housekeeper with an 
apron full of eggs. At my greeting she stopped. 

“ I was at Vavra’s,” she said. “ You know they 
have a fine boy, I suppose.” 

I did not know, and I told her so. 

“ Oh, yes, a fine boy,” she said, “ and the mother 
is doing well ; but we had a nice time at the 
christening. Have you heard ? Of course not ; 
you did not even know there was a baby to be 
named.” 

Naturally, I was interested and begged her to 
tell me the news. 

“Well, it was this way,” she said; “Vavra 
wanted to have the boy baptized Josef, after his 
father, and Katerina — she wanted to have him 
125 


126 The Forestman of Vimpek 

called Matej (or Matthew), after her father. So 
the two could not agree. Then they concluded 
they would call him Martin, after his godfather ; 
but the godfather would not hear of it, but said 
the child ought to be called Vavrinec (or Law- 
rence), after his father. At last, they said that the 
pfarrer should say who was in the right, and after 
whom the boy should be called. Now you know that 
is a delicate question for us to answer,” continued 
the housekeeper. “ If the pfarrer said he should 
be called this name or that, the others would be 
insulted, and we must not offend any one, you 
know. So the pfarrer said : ‘ My good people, I 
think the best plan — indeed, the only plan — 
would be to baptize him after the saint on whose 
day he was born. It was the universal custom in 
the olden times, and indeed his patron saint is 
more likely to take an interest in him if he is 
born and baptized on his day. If you like, I will 
get my breviary and see what saint’s day is there 
commemorated.’ 

“The child was very restless and uneasy, and 
they were all in a hurry to get home ; so they 
agreed and the pfarrer went for the breviary. As 
ill fate would have it, what name do you think 
turned up ? ” 

“ I can’t imagine,” I said. 


A Saunter through Our Village 127 


“ Bonaventury ! ” 

“ Bonaventury ? I never heard of such a name 
in my life.” 

“ Neither did I ! Nor, for the matter of that, did 
any one in the village. But ah, those saints ! For 
the most part they do have such extraordinary 
names ! I suppose it is because they were 
heathens.” 

“ But they cannot have been heathens, if they 
were made saints,” I answered. 

“ I did not think of that,” said the housekeeper. 
“ Well, anyway they were all put out to hear such 
a name as Bonaventury. And Vavra, as well he 
might, said that nothing would induce him to give 
his son such a name, saint or no saint. So the 
squabble began over again from the beginning, 
and, as for the child, he howled himself hoarse, as 
though he objected to the name as well as the rest. 
We were all in a dreadful way, as you may imag- 
ine. The pfarrer was at his wit’s end with them 
all; for some said the boy ought to be baptized 
after the saint, that it would bring him bad luck if 
he was not; while the others declared that such 
a name as Bonaventury had never been heard in 
the village before. 

“At last the nurse, who was carrying the 
screaming child, proposed a plan that she had 


128 The Forestman of Vimpek 


heard, heaven knows where ! They were to fetch 
a Bible, and Vavra should open it, and put his 
finger on a verse. Whatever name was men- 
tioned or spoken about in that verse should be 
the boy’s name. But it must be irrevocably his 
name. 

“ Vavra was delighted with the idea. His 
knowledge of the Bible is very limited, you know, 
for he has only a faint idea that there are four 
gospels, and some one called Paul, though he 
could not exactly remember who he was, or what 
he did. 

“ ‘That’s it, good mother! ’ he said to the nurse, 
‘we will call the boy after one of the blessed 
apostles. It must bring him luck.’ 

“ I can’t say that the pfarrer liked the matter,” 
said the housekeeper. “ He shook his head. 
‘Vavra, Vavra,’ he said, ‘see that you do not 
repent refusing to call the child Bonaventury! 
The saint was a martyr, I see, — it is an imprudent 
thing to do. I do not like it, for my part.’ 

“ But Vavra was determined ; and you know 
what a head he has — for all the world like his 
father the miller. So the pfarrer gave in, as the 
child had howled till it was blue in the face and 
half dead. Well, the Bible was brought in and 
Vavra opened it, and put his finger on a verse. 


A Saunter through Our Village 129 


It was the second chapter of Haggai, the twenty- 
first verse. The pfarrer read it aloud. 

“ 4 Speak to Zerubbabel, governor of Judah, say- 
ing, I will shake the heavens and earth,’ he read. 
‘ So Zerubbabel it is ! ’ said the pfarrer, ‘ and a 
beautiful name ! ’ 

“We all stood dumfounded. If Bonaventury 
had been strange, Zerubbabel was still worse. 
Vavra opened his mouth, as though to say some- 
thing; then he snapped it together like a turtle. 
But the pfarrer did not give them time to consider. 
In the twinkling of an eye, he had baptized 
Zerubbabel, and the matter was at an end. Vavra 
told me to come for some eggs, and as I wished 
to see how Katerina was, I went at once. You 
should have heard Vavra curse that nurse. I never 
knew there were so many oaths before ! I stopped 
a moment to speak with a neighbor, and when 
I got to the house, I found Katerina making 
the lamentations of Job over the child, and the 
teacher writing the name on one side of the door 
in chalk, so that they could read it at odd moments* 
for not a soul of them could remember the name 
for five minutes. 

“ The nurse had disappeared, as though she had 
sunk into the earth, and I tried to console Katerina, 
while I was eating the baptismal cake. I told 


130 The Forestman of Vimpek 


her this Zerubbabel was a governor, consequently 
‘ Merciful ’ and ‘ Excellence.’ I told her it was 
a noble name, but she turned on me like a fury. 
As though I had anything to do with the matter ! 
Is it my fault that they could not agree what to 
call their brat, I should like to know ? ” 

“Certainly not!” I replied to the housekeeper. 
“ You are exempt from all blame.” 

“ I should think I was,” she said, tossing her 
head. “ That Katerina always was too smart ; and 
as for Vavra, he is a noodle ! ” 

With these complimentary remarks she went her 
way and I went mine, meditating what kind of a 
man this Zerubbabel might have been, and how 
on earth they would shorten the boy’s name for 
everyday use. 

I found Prokop in bed, bolstered up, and read- 
ing something that he hid away when I opened 
the door. I had not heard that he was sick, or I 
would not have disturbed him as he was bad 
enough to deal with, even in his best humors. He 
was not exactly ill, he told me, his almost white 
eyes glaring strangely at me from his pale face, 
but tired, and he thought he would rest. 

He did not mention that he had walked in the rain 
up hill and down, some ten miles, just to reconcile a 
father with his son. Prokop doesn’t tell everything. 


A Saunter through Our Village 13 1 


He had a small room, as I have told you, and 
his narrow bed took up quite a large part ; but 
what astonished me was, that, although his pil- 
low-cases were anything but clean, they were of 
beautiful crochet work, such work as one does not 
see done by our peasant girls. If he had been in 
a more amiable mood I might perhaps have asked 
him where he got them ; but when he saw me 
looking, he said at once, “Yes, the pillow-cases 
are dirty; but then, since Jan Anderlik’s mother 
died, I have done most of my washing myself.” 

“You have a pleasant room,” I said. “It faces 
south ; but you do not keep flowers, I see.” 

“No,” he answered, “flowers are not for me;” 
and then he glared at me. 

The room was again in the condition in which 
the match-maker had once discovered it. The 
disorder was great ; scraps of leather littered the 
floor; old boots and shoes lay about in every 
stage of repair, while a heap, apparently un- 
touched, was piled in a corner. The smell was 
unpleasant, being a sort of mixture of every known 
odor in which leather, coffee, and tobacco had a 
share. 

Prokop seemed to read my thoughts, for he 
said, “You might open the window a bit, since 
you are here.” 


132 The Forestman of Vimpek 


I went to do so, and, returning, looked at his 
books. They were ranged on a board, not many of 
them, nor expensive, — I saw the “ Universal Biblio- 
thek,” which costs but twenty pfennig a number, — 
but they were strange books for a shoemaker in 
a poor Bohemian village to have : Schopenhauer, 
John Locke, Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, Epic- 
tetus, Aristotle, Plato, Kant. The Locke and a 
few others were in cheap editions, and there were 
also a few Bohemian books, among these the 
Bible. 

The shoemaker noticed my look of astonish- 
ment, and said quickly, “ I am not the first shoe- 
maker who has dabbled in philosophy.” 

“Oh, no, Prokop,” I said; “but do you often 
read the Bible ? ” 

He cast a sidelong look at me from his white 
eyes; perhaps he remembered that I had seen 
him, more than once, casting a boot at some inno- 
cent who worried him, or boxing the ears of another 
in what was not exactly a Christian manner. 

“ I read it to Rosalia, as you saw,” he said, 
“ and I have read it much in my day ; what Bohe- 
mian that can read at all has not? It has cost 
us blood enough, God knows ! ” And his eyes 
wandered to the print of John Huss that hung on 
his wall. 


A Saunter through Our Village 133 


“ But, Prokop,” I said, “ you have not got 
Huss’s master, Christ, hung in your room ! ” 

“ No,” he said ; “but that is not my fault. You 
see the pedler that sells the prints and chromos, 
had only the pictures in pairs, and he would not 
sell me Christ alone. He had a Christ, too, with a 
great yellow heart in the middle, and a rod in his 
hand ; altogether it looked like anything but the 
Christ. If a pedler comes with something decent I 
will buy it, rest assured.” 

“ I am glad to hear it, Prokop,” I said ; “ but 
now I want you to cut me out a strap for my gun. 
You have plenty of leather, and it will not cost you 
much work.” 

He looked at me meditatively ; then he said, sud- 
denly, “ What do you think of Zola’s ‘Lourdes,’ the 
grotto, and Bernadette the peasant girl to whom 
the Virgin appeared ? ’ 

I was too much astonished to answer him at 
first ; then I thought perhaps he was a little light- 
headed ; so I answered soothingly, “ The Blessed 
Virgin can appear to whom she likes, and where 
she likes, Prokop, and I, for one, know nothing of 
Lourdes or Bernadette.” 

“ But you have read Zola’s book. What do you 
think of it all ? ” 

“ I have not read it,” I answered severely ; “and 


134 The Forestman of Vimpek 


as I have thirty men at work in the forest, I am 
not likely to. More than that, I have not got it, 
and what is also sure, I will not buy it, as such 
things do not interest me at all. Please tell me 
when you will have the strap ready ; that is much 
more to the purpose.” 

“ I will lend it to you,” he said, pulling the book 
from under his pillow. It was in paper, but must 
have cost a good deal, for a man like Prokop. 

“ I don’t want to read it at all, Prokop,” I said. 
“ We have our own Pribram, where it is said the 
Blessed Virgin was seen by ever so many people, 
and where wonders of healing have been performed. 
Why go to Lourdes and Bernadette, I should like 
to know ? ” 

“ I should like you to read Zola, though,” he said. 
“ I should like to have your opinion.” 

“Why, Prokop,” I said; “I did not think you 
were interested in such subjects.” 

“No? Well, from a religious point of view 
I am not at all interested,” he replied. “ But 
did this Bernadette see the Virgin, or was it a 
hallucination, or what was it, I should like to 
know ? ” 

“ Ah me, Prokop ! ” I said, getting up ; “ that is 
a point that neither you nor I will ever be able to 
settle. Wiser brains than ours have puzzled over 


A Saunter through Our Village 135 


the question. I would not worry about the matter, 
if I were you.” 

“ In the winter you will have time to read, and I 
will lend the book to you ; I would like to know 
your opinion,” he persisted. 

“Very well,” I said, putting off the evil day as 
long as possible ; “ I will read it in the winter ; then 
I will have plenty of time. But now it is impossi- 
ble ; I have too many men in the forest ; but do 
try and have my gun-strap ready to-morrow, Prokop; 
you know I need it.” 

He glared at me, reproachfully, as he shoved the 
book behind his pillow again, and told me dryly, 
that perhaps he would have the strap ready, and 
perhaps not ; he did not know. 

I went away wrathfully, wondering why our vil- 
lage, of all others, should have a learned shoemaker, 
who preferred reading Plato and Zola to mending 
shoes and making straps. But it was almost as 
great a puzzle as Lourdes and Bernadette ; and, as 
I do not relish meditations on such perplexing sub- 
jects, I was glad to see ahead of me Frantisk 
Pravda, the teacher from the next village. I called 
out to him to wait for me, as we were both going 
the same way. After the usual greetings and 
compliments, I asked him what brought him to our 
village ? 


136 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ Well, it’s a matter of business, — no, not busi- 
ness exactly; how should I express myself?” he 
answered. “ I’ll tell you ; I have come to ask your 
teacher to write me a poem.” 

“ Dear me!” I exclaimed. “ I never before 
knew that our teacher was a poet.” 

“ Well ! I don’t know that he is,” replied Pravda ; 
“ but, you see, he is fond of mooning about. He 
is an excellent man though, mind, an excellent 
man! ” he hastened to add. “And I thought he 
could, somehow, string me a couple of verses, you 
know. It seems in his line.” 

I did not see what mooning about had to do 
with writing poetry ; but after my experience with 
Prokop and Zola’s “ Lourdes,” I thought I had 
better hold my tongue. One thing was evident — 
our village was an intellectual centre. We would 
soon be heard of in Prague ! 

“ It’s this way,” said Pravda, going on. “ I do 
not need the poem for myself, at all ; I never read 
poetry, from year’s end to year’s end,” and he 
kicked a stone from his path, as if to emphasize 
his meaning. “ But one of our village girls came 
to me a few day’s ago, and told me that they were 
going to have a vobzinky (a harvest-home feast). 
You know the merciful count who is the new 
owner of the castle has come to spend the sum- 


A Saunter through Our Village 137 

mer, and he promised the laborers that, if they 
would be diligent during the harvest, he would 
give them a fine vobzinky. Now, the girl has 
been chosen to present the merciful count and 
countess with the harvest wreaths, and she 
wishes a poem to recite.” 

“ Ah, so ! That is it,” I said. 

“ Yes, that is it! ” replied Pravda. “ She wishes 
a poem, as she can remember the jingles better ; 
and then it is nobler than a speech, she says. She 
brought my wife a sucking pig the same day, so 
you see I must get her a poem.” 

“Naturally!” I replied. “That is self-evi- 
dent.” 

“ I tried to write it myself,” he continued ; “ I 
even made a beginning,” and he pulled a paper 
from the pocket of his long black coat; “but it 
would not go. I began all right. See, I began 
‘ Exalted Eminence * ! ” 

“ That is the merciful count ? ” I broke in. 

“ Or the countess,” said the teacher compla- 
cently, “ whichever hears the speech, or poem, you 
know. It sounds well, don’t it ? ” 

“ Very ! ” I exclaimed. 

“ But what to put next ; that’s what puzzles me,” 
he complained. 

“I haven’t the least talent that way, Pravda,” I 


138 The Forestman of Vimpek 


said hurriedly, for I remembered, with a start, that 
I had heard that our teacher had leave to go and 
see his sister married, and I was in mortal fear 
that Pravda should propose that I should write the 
poem for him. “If it were to shoot a squirrel 
now, that would be another matter.” 

“ Squirrels make very good soup,” replied 
Pravda, putting back his paper in his pocket. 

By this time we had come to the pfarrer s house, 
and we saw him in his garden, contemplating his 
hives. As soon as he caught sight of us, he called 
out to know whether we had not seen a swarm of 
bees; he suspected he had lost one, he told us. 

We assured him we had seen nothing of that 
sort, and that we were looking for the teacher. 

“He went away early this morning to see his 
sister married, and he cannot be back before the 
day after to-morrow,” replied the pfarrer, still 
keeping an eye on his bees. “Is it anything 
important ? ” 

“ I wanted him to write a poem for me, your 
reverence,” began Pravda, and then, with a woebe- 
gone countenance, he explained the situation. 

The pfarrer was not astonished. Indeed, noth- 
ing could shake his equanimity. 

“A poem! Yes, that would be very appropri- 
ate,” he remarked gravely. 


A Saunter through Our Village 139 


“ But where am I to get it ? ” asked the dis- 
tracted teacher. 

The pfarrer was poking about his apple trees ; 
perhaps the swarm had settled on some unper- 
ceived branch, he thought, and he was afraid he 
would lose them. 

“ Get what ? ” he asked, having apparently for- 
gotten all about the poem. 

“ The poem for the vobzinky. I was sure your 
teacher would write it.” Pravda replied anxiously. 

“ I never heard of Jan Marie Koldy’s ever hav- 
ing written a poem in my life, and I do not believe 
he is such a dunce as to try,” said the pfarrer. 
“ He’s a little romantic, I can’t deny that ; but 
write a poem ! that is going too far. But I can 
tell you who will, for I have read some of them, 
and they were not exactly bad, not at all — shoo ! 
— get out of the way, quick ! quick ! they are 
going to swarm now, I think, — do you hear the 
buzzing ? ” 

We retreated in haste behind some bushes, and 
I would have taken my departure then and there, 
if I had not wanted to hear who it was in our part 
of the world who wrote poems that the pfarrer 
admired. 

Pravda was peeping apprehensively behind the 
bushes at the hives; perhaps he had been stung 


140 The Forestman of Vimpek 


before ; as for the pfarrer, he was apparently all 
eyes. 

“ No,” said the pfarrer, after a few moments' 
pause; “ they are not going to swarm just now. 
Perhaps they have not got a queen. I must ask 
Jacob to see this evening.” 

“ But the poem, your reverence ? Who writes 
poems did you say ? ” queried Pravda. 

“ Ah, yes ; the poem ! ” said the pfarrer, “ why, 
that young student — what is his name ? — the one 
who courted Katerina, you know — Katerina who 
married Vavra, the miller’s Vavra; he writes 
poems.” 

“ Who does — Vavra, the miller’s son ? ” inquired 
Pravda, quite mixed up by the pfarrer’s explana- 
tion. 

“Oh! you mean Jaroslav Kimperc,” I broke in. 
“ He is home for a few days. I saw him in the 
forest yesterday.” 

“ In the forest or on the mountains ; he is 
always wandering about when he is home. If you 
can catch him, Pravda, he’s your man,” declared 
the pfarrer. “ He writes poetry, I know ; Katerina 
showed me some, that he wrote to her before she 
married Vavra ; and it was not bad, not bad at all, 
as far as poetry goes. It was all about flowers 
and clouds, and hearts and darts, and that kind 


A Saunter through Our Village 141 


of thing. I said to Katerina, ‘ Thank your stars 
that you did not get him,’ I said ; ‘ you would soon 
have seen how the farm looked. He would have 
let all the fields lie fallow perhaps, to contemplate 
the wild flowers; or be writing poems instead of 
feeding the cows and pigs.’ And Katerina said, 

* Well, perhaps you are right, but they are pretty 
verses all the same.’ ” 

“ But to write poems to one’s lady-love and poems 
for other and more important occasions, is not the 
same, I should fancy,” said Pravda. 

“Ah, fiddlesticks! Give him a sausage and a 
glass of beer, and he will write you a poem about 
anything and anybody on earth, I’ll warrant,” said 
the pfarrer. “ But I would draw your attention to 
one thing, Pravda ; your merciful count is a great 
cultivator of cabbages, I have heard ; if you could 
get me some of his seed I would be much obliged ; 
a little would do.” 

“Your reverence shall have it,” said the de- 
lighted Pravda ; “ and I will tell the young man to 
try to get the cabbage into the poem with the 
other things ; for he must bring in the wheat, bar- 
ley, and rye.” 

“ Not being in the habit of writing poems, I do 
not know,” said the pfarrer; “but a cabbage is 
not quite a romantic thing, though it is useful, 


142 The Forestman of Vimpek 


especially with sausages, in winter. It might not 
do ; but the young man will tell you ; he knows 
all about such matters, no doubt.” 

“Well, I will try him, anyway,” said P.ravda. 
“ God be with your reverence ! ” And he took his 
departure. I watched him going down the dusty 
road, his long threadbare coat hanging disconso- 
lately about his thin legs, and his head bent down- 
ward. Doubtless he was thinking of the cabbages, 
or perhaps it was the beets. 

There was no use trying to talk with the pfarrer; 
he had only one thought in his head, just now, and 
that was his bees. So I went home to my dwell- 
ing in the forest. How thankful I was that I had 
no son to be called Zerubbabel, that I was not 
interested in Lourdes or whether or no Bernadette 
saw the Virgin, and that I had no occasion, for 
writing poems to exalted eminences. Instead of 
a howling brat, I had a respectable pointer pup ; 
a shelf of pipes instead of philosophy, and, if I 
did not eat a sucking pig, neither was I called on 
to *be a poet against my will. Something for 
something, said I to myself. 


CHAPTER X 


A Visitor to the Village 

I T was a beautiful day; the sun was shining 
warmly, and in the clear air one could see, 
for miles and miles around, the mountains rising 
one above the other. The meadows were brilliant 
with flowers; the forest trees had put on a new 
green; the glory and perfume of summer were 
everywhere. Flocks of geese tended by little 
barefooted, blond-headed children, were feeding 
by the roadsides, and from the pastures came the 
tinkling of the cow-bells, and from the farm-yards 
the crowing of cocks. 

What a beautiful world this is, I thought, as, 
along the footpath, I went to the village. Behind 
a clump of trees some one was singing ; it was the 
pathetic “ Cuckoo Song ” (zakukala zezulicka) and 
I paused to listen, for the singer had such a strong, 
fresh young voice. This is the way the “ Cuckoo 
Song” goes : — • 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo, sang the cuckoo 
In the little grove. 

Ah ! In the little grove. 

143 


144 The Forestman of Vimpek 


In her own home wept my loved one 
In her lonely room. 

Ah! In her lonely room.” 

“Why are you lamenting, weeping? 

Surely, you are mine. 

Ah! Surely you are mine. 

When the cuckoo cries at Christmas, 

Three times, you are mine. 

Ah ! Three times, you are mine.” 

“How my weeping can I silence 
Since you are not mine? 

No! You are not mine! 

For the cuckoo ne’er at Christmas 
Lets his voice be heard. 

No! Then it is not heard.” 

Out of the clump of trees came Jaroslav Kim- 
perc; his hands were full of flowers, his young 
face was wreathed with smiles. “ I wonder if he 
is writing any more poems,” I said to myself, as I 
strolled on my way to the pfarrer’s. 

I was going there for flowers. The pfarrer was 
a lover of flowers ; so, too, was my aunt, and his 
reverence had promised me a pot of his best lilies 
that he had bought in Prague, as a present to my 
aunt on her name-day, — no one, you know, keeps 
his or her birthday in Bohemia. 

As I crossed the highway, I saw a carriage 
coming rapidly into the village. Hardly any one 


A Saunter through Our Village 145 


except the vicar ever comes in such state, so I 
hurried on to tell the pfarrer. 

He was also not a little astonished, but he 
said it could not be the vicar, for he surely 
would have known beforehand of such a visit. 
We went out in the garden to see who it was, 
and were not a little perplexed when the car- 
riage stopped before the Bohemian Lion and 
a man in a captain’s uniform stepped briskly 
out. Josef the innkeeper came smiling and bow- 
ing, hat in hand, to welcome his guest, while all 
the children ran to look at him, and pipe out 
shrilly, “Praised be the Lord Jesus!” The aris- 
tocratic guest was too noble to answer the custom- 
ary “In Everlasting!” but went at once into the 
inn, where we lost sight of him. 

“ Now who on earth can that be ? ” I said. 

The pfarrer did not answer at once. 

“ I think I know, but I am not quite sure,” he 
said, at last. “ Come, let us get the lilies.” 

I saw from his manner that the pfarrer did not 
wish to be pestered with questions. We went to 
the bed of lilies, and dug up one of the pots. The 
pfarrer’s housekeeper came out to see what we 
were doing, and thereupon promised me a slip 
from her myrtle for my aunt. We were talking 
thus together, when Josef the innkeeper ran over 


146 The Forestman of Vimpek 


to borrow a few of our best knives and forks for 
his guest. 

“And who may he be, Josef?” asked the 
pfarrer’s housekeeper, who always wishes to know 
everything. 

“ I do not know,” said Josef ; “he must be some- 
thing noble, from his manner, for he told me to 
give him the best we had in the inn, and to serve 
Peter the coachman well, also. He speaks Bohe- 
mian with an accent. I asked Peter who he was, 
but he did not know ; only said that the stranger 
had hired him for five florins to drive to the village 
and back.” 

“And what are you going to give him, Josef?” 
asked the housekeeper. 

“What can I give him, at a moment’s notice, 
but scrambled eggs, little cheeses, fresh butter, 
and rye bread,” replied the innkeeper; “and then 
he can have coffee or beer, whichever he likes.” 

“ And it’s quite enough, too,” growled the pfar- 
rer; “only see that he pays you, Josef, before he 
goes away.” The pfarrer seemed to be in a par- 
ticularly bad humor that morning. 

The news that an unknown stranger was in our 
village spread like wildfire, and in a little while 
all the villagers who were not in the fields had 
gathered about the inn to see him come out. 


A Saunter through Our Village 147 


Each one had a different theory. Some said he 
had been sent to reconnoitre the ground so as to 
be able to say if it were fit for a military manoeuvre. 
Others declared that war had broken out in Bava- 
ria, and we had not yet heard of it. Others, again, 
decided that he was an engineer, and that the gov- 
ernment had sent him to examine the ground so as 
to make a road through the forest into Bavaria. 

Whoever he is, he is not handsome, I thought, 
as I examined him from behind the pfarrer’s wall. 

“ It seems to me I ought to know him,” said the 
housekeeper; “his face has something familiar 
about it ; but of course that is only fancy. Why ! 
he is coming here,” she exclaimed, after a little 
while; and indeed it was true. After making the 
round of the village, followed at a respectful dis- 
tance by all the children and by the eyes of every- 
body else sheltered behind curtains or trees, the 
stranger was evidently coming to the pfarrer’s 
house. 

“Go in quickly, your reverence, and put on 
your Sunday coat,” said the housekeeper. 

But the pfarrer did not move. He said nothing, 
but, just as he was, in his shabby old coat, awaited 
the stranger. 

Our visitor approached in a sauntering way ; he 
had a cigar in his mouth ; the gold of his uniform 


148 The Forestman of Vimpek 


shone brightly, and his sword was clanking behind 
him. He was the very picture of a would-be aris- 
tocrat. In a lisping voice, but with too strong an 
accent, he accosted the pfarrer, who was contem- 
plating him with what seemed to me anything but 
an admiring glance. 

He was sorry to trouble his reverence, he said, 
but could he tell him where some people by the 
name of Prusik were buried? At this, we all 
started together, Peter the coachman, Josef the 
innkeeper, and the pfarrer’s housekeeper, and half 
a dozen others who had been loitering about. 

Without a word the pfarrer led the way, and 
the officer followed him. He did not seem to 
like our company, however, and would, doubtless, 
have got rid of us, if he had been able. 

We came at last to the grave ; it was a poor, 
forsaken mound, with only a rotting wooden cross 
at its head. The pfarrer paused. 

“This is the grave you are seeking,” he said. 

The officer took the cigar out of his mouth, and 
looked at the cross a moment, apparently quite 
unmoved. Thep he said, in his drawling manner : 
“ I am under some obligation to these people, and 
I should like a stone slab and cross to be erected. 
Have you any stone-mason who could do the 
work ? ” 


A Saunter through Our Village 149 

I had known the pfarrer for years, but never 
before, or since, did I see his face light up as 
now; his gray eyes flashed like naked swords. 

“These persons to whom you say you are 
‘under some obligations’ are your parents,” he said 
in a voice that all could hear. “And as to a 
stone-mason ? Have you forgotten, Alois Prusik, 
that your own uncle, the mason, lives in the village, 
in the old cottage where you were born ? ” 

If a clap of thunder had broken over our heads, 
we could not have been more astonished at first. 
Then we remembered the whole affair and knew 
the pfarrer was right. This officer, in his gold 
trappings and sword, was no other than Alois 
Prusik, son of the wood-cutter of that name. He 
had been a good scholar at school, and, when he 
was fourteen, he had gone to Prague to live with 
an uncle who had a small business in that city, 
and who had no children. How it all came about, 
we did not know ; but the lad was clever and evi- 
dently understood how to flatter and cringe, and 
the next we heard of him was that he was in the 
army. He never visited the village and we would 
perhaps have forgotten his existence, if his father 
and mother had not lived among us. 

So this was the son, for whom they had toiled 
and slaved! He had never written to them, 


150 The Forestman of Vimpek 


except when he thought they had saved up a few 
florins against their old age; then would come 
begging letters that the pfarrer had read to them, 
with wrath in his heart and disgust in his face. 
And the poor parents had believed their lying 
son, and had sent him every hard-earned kreuzer 
that they had. We who lived in the village 
knew all this. And now he had come back to 
us to raise a stone cross to his parents “ to whom 
he was under some obligation ! ” 

But if we were thunderstruck at the pfarrer’s 
words, the officer was not less so. He turned 
crimson ; then he grew pale as death. Doubtless 
he had never imagined we would recognize him, 
or surely he would not have ventured among us. 
He had changed so much and grown older in all 
those years, so how could he know that the 
pfarrar would remember him ? 

Vavra’s father was the first to regain himself. 
In his miller’s clothes, he brushed past the officer, 
and grasped the hand of the pfarrer, while he 
spat contemptuously in the direction of the young 
man. The miller was a sort of cousin to the 
officer’s father, and had been godfather to this 
dutiful son. 

I think the miller must have expressed the 
sentiment of all of us, for one after the other we 


A Saunter through Our Village 15 1 


took our departure, most of us following the 
example of the miller; then the pfarrer and the 
officer were left alone. What passed between 
them nobody knew, but the officer soon got into 
his carriage and rode away. Peter drove very 
slowly through the village, so that every one 
might come to the windows and doors and get a 
look at “our visitor.” Mothers pointed to the 
officer in derision, while the men turned their 
backs upon him, and the school children no longer 
called to him, “Praised be the Lord Jesus!” 

I went home with my pot of lilies, to find my 
aunt busy with a snar — a dream book. She had 
had a strange dream she told me. She had 
dreamed of a duck, or ducks, she could not 
exactly remember which. Now it seems that to 
dream of one duck means one thing, but to dream 
of more than one means quite another. So my 
aunt was greatly perplexed, as she wished to 
“set” in the “little lottery” in Prague. The 
“little lottery” in Austria, you must know (called 
so to distinguish it from the other lotteries), is 
made up of ninety numbers, five of which are 
drawn out every week. To win, one must “set 
money ” on three numbers. If two numbers come 
out, the player receives four florins ; if all three 
are drawn, then a sum in proportion to the amount 


152 The Forestman of Vimpek 


set and paid for comes to the player. The num- 
bers are drawn in all the large towns and cities, — 
Vienna, Prague, Tratz, — and one has to say, when 
paying the money, for which city one “sets.” If 
one should see a duck, that meant luck and hap- 
piness, and was number 5. To shoot ducks, was 
unhappiness or number 67. To see a roast duck, 
was to marry a fair maiden ; it was number 78. 
To see a duck on the water, meant love and num- 
ber 88. Which of these was the right number to 
set, my aunt demanded anxiously. 

This problem was too perplexing for me, and 
I began to eat the cake that my aunt had baked 
in honor of her name-day. 

“Set 88,” I said at last; “that is love, aunt, 
and see! I have brought you a pot of beautiful 
lilies,” I added gallantly, putting in the sunny 
window the flowers I had brought from the 
pfarrer’s. 

“You were always a dear, good boy,” said my 
aunt, “from the time you were tied up in your 
feather-bed ” (I have gray hair and whiskers). 
Then she went into the next room, wiping her 
eyes. 

But those were pleasant words; so, stretching 
out my tired legs, I began to slumber in my arm- 
chair. Every now and then I would wake up a 


A Saunter through Our Village 153 


little only to hear the word “ duck ” and a number 
proposed. Evidently my aunt had company and 
they were having a consultation. All your friends 
are supposed to come and congratulate you on 
your saint’s day, and if you are of enough impor- 
tance, or wealthy, a band comes and plays three 
times under your window, when you are expected 
to dive into your pocket and pay them well for 
their good-will. So I was not astonished that our 
silent house rang with merry voices to-day. I 
congratulated myself, however, that we kept no 
servants, or every soul of them would have come 
in with bunches of flowers, and made a speech, 
and, although it is, doubtless, delightful to know 
one is so well beloved, it is rather an expensive 
business, as one is, of course, expected to keep 
one’s saint’s day by doing nothing and eating and 
drinking more than usual, in which pleasure the 
whole household also participates. 

My aunt was well beloved in the village, so 
almost every one she knew came with a little gift, 
or a bunch of flowers, and we soon had the table 
full of plates of kolatsche cakes, eggs, butter, rosa- 
ries, little pictures of saints, and a variety of 
other gifts. Prokop turned up with a yellow 
kitten, that he had begged from some one in the 
next village. As we had no yellow cats in our 


154 The Forestman of Vimpek 


village, it was a rarity and was duly admired. The 
pfarrer came solemnly, with a mouse-trap that he 
had bought of a Slovak from Hungary, who went 
about the world selling things made out of wire 
and who addressed every one as “ brother.” The 
pfarrer’s housekeeper had a pot of currant jam, 
while Vavra brought a bird-cage, which he had 
made himself out of willow twigs. My aunt was so 
overcome at all these gifts that she began to wipe 
her eyes with her apron, and I had to scold her to 
set her to making the coffee with which to regale 
our friends. 

So we sat drinking our coffee in peace and quiet- 
ness except for the mewing of the new kitten, 
which spat spitefully at our own two cats and the 
pointer pup, as though it was anything better, even 
if it were yellow. Just then Bedrich Dumek, of 
the quality, turned up. He had brought my aunt 
an instrument that looked like a key, but which he 
assured us was the latest invention for threading 
needles. He was so enthusiastic over it, that he 
would hardly take time to drink his coffee before 
showing us how.it was done. My aunt brought 
him some needles, and after a great deal of trouble 
he found one that would fit. Then he set about 
threading it ; but the needle would not be threaded 
on any account, do what he would. 


A Saunter through Our Village 155 


In the meanwhile, the yellow kitten had sprung 
upon the table and upset a jug of milk; she also 
broke two cups, and when my aunt went away to 
put the kitten in the cellar, it scratched her nicely 
before she could catch it. 

“ It’s nearly as badly behaved as Prokop him- 
self,” said my aunt ruefully, when she came back 
to us with her bleeding hands. 

“ Prokop’s a good man,” said the pfarrer, decid- 
edly ; “ but he sometimes has queer notions ; all 
shoemakers have.” 

“ I don’t understand this thing at all,” said Bed- 
rich Dumek, “the man from whom I bought it 
threaded the needle at once. I must go and see 
him again.” Then he added, “ I was in the town 
to-day, and what do you think I saw, as I was com- 
ing home ? ” 

Nobody could imagine, and Bedrich went on. 

“ Why, when I came to the boggy way by the 
lake,” he said, “ I saw Peter with his carriage, and 
I went to one side, so as not to disturb him. I 
can’t think what happened ; but the next I knew, 
the carriage had turned over in the muddiest place, 
and the officer, who was riding inside, crawled out 
just a mass of mud. Heavens! how he did curse 
and swear ; and, bless me ! what a mess he was in. 
But what do you think? Peter, who must have 


156 The Forestman of Vimpek 


jumped off and was not a bit muddy, didn’t even 
go to his help ! He just held his old mare by the 
head, and laughed and laughed till the tears ran 
down his cheeks ; and the more the officer swore, 
the more he laughed. If there had been any 
earthly reason for his doing so, I should have 
thought Peter had done it on purpose,” declared 
Bedrich. 

The pfarrer and I looked at one another and 
smiled ; but we did not say anything. 


CHAPTER XI 


An Afternoon at Home 

I T had been a hard day, and I sat on a bench 
before my cottage, resting and thinking of 
many things, when Bedrich Dumek, of the quality, 
came walking up from the village. 

I was not astonished to see Bedrich, for he often 
came to see me ; he was fond of asking questions 
about the great hunting parties that take place 
every few years, and about the inhabitants of my 
kingdom — the hares, partridges, squirrels and 
other of my four-footed kindred of the forest. 
This time, however, he had more important busi- 
ness on hand ; he wished me to show him how to 
stuff birds, an art in which, if I do say it myself, I 
excel. Bedrich was not a stupid boy ; far from 
it ; but one needs certain things even to begin to 
learn to stuff birds, and I told him what he must 
buy in the town, and advised him to try his 
hand on a chicken or a pigeon first, as they were 
larger and more easily handled than the forest 
birds. 


i57 


158 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Bedrich listened to me for a while attentively 
enough ; then he said he was afraid he might for- 
get something I told him, and he thought he had 
better write it all down. With that he brought out 
a big note-book, in which he began to put down my 
instructions. 

“ That’s a big book, Bedrich,” I remarked. “ It 
must be heavy to carry about” But the boy 
informed me he had chosen it of that size on pur- 
pose, as he wished to be able to press flowers in it, 
and he showed me some specimens of his work in 
that line. 

While we were talking of the hundreds of wild 
flowers and herbs that grow in our part of Bohe- 
mia, Vavra, the miller’s son, joined us, and said 
there was an encampment of gypsies, not far 
away. Now, gypsies and forestmen are born ene- 
mies. From this feud I was no exception ; still 
I had not waged war upon them, since my master, 
the merciful count, had told me not to do so. He 
was much indebted to an old gypsy who had once 
served him well, so he had told me, and he 
desired me to leave the gypsies in peace when- 
ever they encamped in his forest. 

Bedrich was in much excitement over Vavra’s 
news; so I told him that we could go and see 
the gypsies if he wished. Then Vavra said that he 


An Afternoon at Home 


*59 


would accompany us ; he wished to get some lini- 
ment for his lame horse, he said, and gypsies under- 
stood such matters. We went into my cottage, 
where I lent Vavra a bottle for the liniment and 
gave him a gun, for one never knows what may 
happen among gypsies. Then we sallied forth, 
with Bedrich trotting after us. 

There were not many gypsies in the encamp- 
ment, but they had come from Hungary, and they 
were dark, — the right kind, so Vavra said, to know 
about liniments. They were seated peacefully 
enough around the fire, waiting for their supper, 
which was a stew made of hares — stolen most 
likely. 

Vavra began to bargain for the liniment. The 
gypsies asked an exorbitant sum at first, but they 
came down at last to fifteen kreuzers for a pint. 
In the meanwhile a gypsy woman had pounced on 
Bedrich and insisted on telling him his fortune, if 
he would cross her hand with silver. Bedrich dived 
in his pocket and brought up an old knife, a piece 
of string, and a few kreuzers, which he handed the 
gypsy; she looked disgusted, but, nevertheless, went 
to work. As far as I could hear Bedrich was to 
“ set ” in the little lottery (and she gave him a 
choice of numbers that would surely bring luck) ; 
he would win, and be enormously wealthy, she 


160 The Forestman of Vimpek 


said ; then he was to marry a princess, and live in 
a castle far, far away. And when all this happened, 
“the pretty young gentleman” was to remember 
the “ poor but honest gypsy ” who had foretold this 
brilliant future. 

The wanderers were very dirty, and were not at 
all interesting ; so, our business being finished, we 
left them to enjoy in peace their repast and the 
contents of several suspicious-looking bottles that 
lay about. Both Vavra and I knew enough of the 
vermin not to be enthusiastic ; but Bedrich, proba- 
bly charmed with the prospect before him and his 
promised princess, told us a number of tales about 
gypsies whose prophesying had come true. 

“ They’re the biggest thieves in the world,” said 
Vavra, doggedly ; “ of course they know more than 
others, for they deal with the devil, you know” 
(here he spat on the ground, to keep himself from 
harm). “ Oh, you needn’t look at me, Bedrich,” 
he went on ; “I know what I am saying. Beel- 
zebub or the devil, it’s all one; they are hand 
in glove with Satan, — the vermin ! ” 

Thereupon Vavra gave us descriptions of meet- 
ings with the Evil One, of which he had heard 
through his friends; they were enough to make 
one’s hair stand on end. 

“Yes, yes, Master Bedrich; it’s all true,” said 


An Afternoon at Home 


161 


Vavra ; “ you can swear to it on the crucifix,” he 
assured the affrighted Bedrich, “and as to that 
old hag Kanda, — she was the incarnation of the 
devil herself, or my name is not Vavra.” 

Never having had the privilege of seeing the 
Evil One, or even a sight of a wood-nymph or 
a mermaid, — although almost all the village had 
done so, — I listened silently, and only nodded 
my head wisely when Vavra, every now and then, 
asked me if he did not speak the truth, and if I 
had not heard the same story from others ? When 
we came to the old oak where the paths separated, 
Vavra gave me back my gun, and Bedrich and he 
went down to the village, while I turned home- 
ward by another way. It was growing late and 
was already nearly dark, as I came to the cross 
where, two years before, poor Fanny had been 
killed by a falling tree, as she was bringing her 
husband his dinner. She was buried m the 
churchyard; but this cross, as is the custom in 
our part of Bohemia, had been placed on the spot 
as a memorial, and a request for the prayers 
of the passers-by. 

There was a tin picture attached to the cross. 
It was a brilliant painting by a local “artist” who 
worked on doors and windows, and was looked 
upon as quite a work of art. It represented poor 

M 


162 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Fanny with the tree lying across her body; above 
her, to the right, floated a sky-blue cloud upon 
which sat God the Father, dressed in a red gown, 
and kicking at what seemed to be a ball, — pre- 
sumedly our world. Above her, on the other 
side, and also on a sky-blue cloud, sat St. Frances, 
with her arms extended as if to welcome her name- 
sake. Below the painting was written an account 
of the accident and a request for prayers. 

I suppose it must have been habit, but I always 
paused before this work of art, even when, as on 
this occasion, it was too dark to study its beauties. 
How many people I had known who had been 
killed in one way or the other in the enveloping 
forest, and whose crosses were all that remained ! 

It was beginning to grow very dark when I 
turned away from Fanny’s cross. The air was 
chill, and I thought with pleasure of the hot 
coffee that I knew would be ready for me on 
the stove at home. But I had not had enough 
excitement for one day ; for, when I entered our 
cottage I found Prokop there. He was gossiping 
with my aunt about the missionaries who were 
expected to preach in our village soon. My aunt 
is very religious and was looking forward to their 
coming with pleasure ; so she was quite scandal- 
ized by Prokop, who was saying that he should 


An Afternoon at Home 


i6 3 

like to know what was the use of sending mission- 
aries among Christian people. “ Send them to 
the heathen,” he said, “ as they did poor Andreas, 
who was murdered in China; but it’s foolish to 
send them to our village, where nobody has sense 
enough to doubt anything.” 

“O Prokop, Prokop ! ” cried my aunt; “you 
must yet repent of your sins, I fear. I’m sure 
no heathen could be worse than you are; for 
you were born and brought up in Bohemia, and 
you ought not to speak of the holy men in such 
a manner.” 

I seemed to hear Prokop chuckle at this, as 
though it answered his question, and with a broad 
grin, he presented me with the boots he had been 
repairing for me. I led him to my sanctum, feel- 
ing instinctively that he had come to have it out 
with me about Lourdes, and I glared wrathfully 
over the coffee-pot. I felt bound to read his book, 
but I was not at all interested about Bernadette or 
the grotto, and I had skipped whole pages of the 
book, so I did not feel like being examined on the 
subject. But, since he was here, there was noth- 
ing to do but try and appease him with coffee. 
Prokop was far too philosophical to care about 
eating I knew ; indeed it was said that he lived for 
weeks on nothing but boiled potatoes and salt, or a 


164 The Forestman of Vimpek 


little sour soup and black rye bread ; but I did 
hope it might soften his heart. 

He drank his coffee meditatively, and I knew 
that he was thinking of higher things, by the way 
his white eyes rolled about. So I felt exasperated 
even before he began to talk. I knew he would 
start off the moment that I had swallowed my 
coffee, so I took my time to drink it ; but it could 
not last forever, and he began. 

“ How did you like the book? ” he asked. 

“ After reading the book, Prokop,” I replied, 
wincing a bit as I remembered how much I had 
skipped, “ I do not think I understand the matter 
better than before. But you know I take no 
interest in such things. Forty years off and on 
I have lived in this forest, and I have seen neither 
ghost or goblin, wood-nymph or devil, though al- 
most every one else in the village has. I have not 
a talent for understanding wonders, that is evident. 
But why on earth do you, of all people, I should 
like to know, bother your head about such matters.” 

“ Would you ? ” he said, suddenly ; “ then I will 
tell you. I have never told anybody yet, but you 
can hold your tongue I know.” I nodded that I 
could, and he continued, “ Perhaps you never heard 
that I have a daughter ? ” 

I had never heard it, and I said so. 


An Afternoon at Home 


i6 5 


“ Nobody in this village ever heard of her, and 
never shall,” he declared. “She is dead to the 
world. She is in a convent, and she thought she 
saw the Blessed Virgin.” 

I was so astonished at all this, that I took the 
pipe out of my mouth, and stared at him. 

“ Yes, it is inconceivable,” he said, “ and yet it is 
so. I have spent many nights debating the sub- 
ject with myself. I have looked at it from all 
sides and from every point of view, and I cannot 
come to any conclusion.” 

“Tell me all about it, Prokop,” I said, a great 
feeling of pity for the lonely man coming over me. 

“ There is not much to tell,” he said. “ I mar- 
ried for love. That was unwise, in the beginning, 
as any one in our village would tell you. My wife 
was a quiet woman ; I could never have married a 
chatterbox, and Milada was our only child. Her 
mother died when she was six years old, and I 
tried to be mother and father to the little girl. I 
tried my best; but perhaps I failed. I do not 
know; but of one thing I am sure, I loved that 
child as the apple of my eye. I lived in Innspruck 
then; it is a city of churches and convents, and 
my hope was to educate my girl for a teacher or 
something of that kind. But Milada was not 
bright at learning, and I had to give up the idea. 


1 66 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Then I sent her to the convent school to learn fine 
sewing and embroidery, for she was clever at 
fancy work. I have some of her crochet work at 
home, now ; it is all I have to remind me of her. 
When she was about sixteen she fell ill of a fever; 
it was a sort of wasting fever, and I sent her 
into the mountains for change of air. It was 
there, among those mountains, that she thought 
she saw the Virgin.” 

Prokop stopped and stared at me meditatively 
for a while ; then he continued. “ I don’t know 
about it,” he said ; “ usually, in such cases, people 
say that the priests or the nuns or somebody have 
their hands in the mystery, but here there was 
nothing of the kind. When I told the pfarrer of 
that place about Milada, he merely said: ‘Your 
daughter is not well. Take her to a doctor, or 
give her change; it is all imagination.’ The doc- 
tor whom I saw shook his head, and said young 
girls often had such fancies ; then he gave her a 
tonic, and bade me send her to the city, where she 
might see and hear other things, and perhaps for- 
get her vision. ■ 

“ I took their advice, and, although I had a good 
business, and had saved up a nice few hundred 
florins to buy a field or two in our village, against 
the time when Milada would marry some strapping 


An Afternoon at Home 


167 


lad from our forest and let me end my days in 
peace in the place where I was born, I sold out 
my business and went away. I took Milada here 
and there, to this town and that, thinking the 
change might help her, and that she would forget 
the vision, or whatever it was ; but it was of no use; 
nothing would do. She would turn away from the 
gay society of girls of her own age, while the rib- 
bons and finery that I bought her would lay unused 
in her trunk. 

“ All that I could get out of her was, that she 
wanted to ‘ dedicate herself to God and the Virgin.’ 

‘ Dedicate yourself to me,’ I said. * See ! I am get- 
ting old ; marry some diligent youth, and let me 
see my grandchildren around me ere I die.’ But, 
no ; nothing would do but a convent, and that of 
the strictest sort. So we wandered about two 
years. I worked at my trade, and she did em- 
broidery and fine sewing for the ladies ; but she 
always had that far-off look in her eyes. She had 
grown very pale during this time, and was very 
silent ; she hardly ever spoke to me, and when she 
did, it was only to beseech me to let her enter a 
convent.” 

Prokop shivered slightly. But then, the room 
was not warm. At last he continued. 

“When I saw it was all useless,” he said, “I 


1 68 The Forestman of Vimpek 

took her back to Innspruck, and there she entered 
a convent, one of the severest orders that we have. 
It was no easy matter to find entrance for her. I 
had to beg here, and beseech there, for we were 
poor, and to buy her wardrobe and pay the fees 
took every kreuzer I had saved for years.” 

“ And did you never see her again, Prokop ? ” I 
asked. 

“Yes, behind heavy iron bars,” he replied. 
“ There I saw my daughter — the little child I had 
carried in my arms, and loved as my own soul, and 
whom I promised my dead wife I would cherish 
as the treasure of my life. Milada told me she 
was ‘ happy, quite happy/ and she seemed relieved 
when I told her I was going home to my own vil- 
lage. * It might disturb her to see me often/ she 
said ; ‘ one should fix one’s heart on things above.’ 

“ I have never seen her since,” he said rising, 
“ and here I have been taking up your time with 
my useless gossip ; but now you know why I 
bought Zola’s ‘ Lourdes’ as soon as it came out.” 

I could only get up, also, and press his hand. 

“ I do not understand, Prokop, what it was that 
Bernadette saw, or if she really ever did see any- 
thing,” I said ; “ but I have often wondered, as I 
have walked in the forest after a storm, why it was 
that some trees were broken, while others were 


An Afternoon at Home 


169 


split by lightning ; I have wondered why God per- 
mitted some of the trees to be slowly killed by 
plants that sucked the life juice from them, plants 
that were only worthy to be cast in the fire. But, 
believe me, there is One who knows why all this 
has to be, and we can only trust that, after the 
storm of this world, we shall understand and be 
satisfied.” 

He pressed my hand, and went out, and in a few 
minutes I heard him squabbling with my aunt, as 
usual, about the best way to make plum jam ; we 
were just boiling ours, and Prokop said my aunt 
was not doing it right. 

My aunt has not the patience of Job, and she 
told him “to mind his own business, and attend 
to his shoemaking.” Prokop laughed at this, and 
I heard him shut the front door, as he went into 
the forest. I opened the window and looked out ; 
the autumn wind was moaning among the branches, 
but the stars were shining brightly, — Prokop would 
find his way home. 


CHAPTER XII 


The Harvest-home Feast 
E heard that there was to be a vobzinky 



V V or harvest-home feast in the next village, 
and when Bedrich asked me to go with him and 
some of the other lads, I at once made up my 
mind to do so. It was the occasion for which, I 
remembered, the teacher Pravda was having a 
poem written by the student Jaroslav Kimperc, 
and I had reason to believe that it would be a 
fine affair. 

There was nothing remarkable to be seen in 
the village; it is much like ours, but the land- 
scape about it is very beautiful. Magnificent 
mountains rise one behind the other, the most of 
them covered with dense forests. The castle also 
is a fine building, standing a little higher than the 
village that it overlooks. 

It was about four o’clock when we reached the 
“ Pansky Hostinec,” that is to say, the inn belong- 
ing to the quality. There we stopped to rest and 
get a glass of beer, for we were tired and thirsty 


The Harvest-home Feast 17 1 

after the hot, dusty walk. The innkeeper was a 
talkative old man, and when he had heard who we 
were, and where we came from, he began to give 
us the news. 

They were getting ready the wagons, he said, 
and we could see the procession from the inn 
door ; but, if we wished to hear the poem, we had 
better go close up to the castle gate. It was a 
x fine poem, he said, and worth the hearing; the 
teacher Pravda had read it to him privately. The 
wreaths were also very fine, he told us ; they had 
been made for the occasion by a gardener in the 
next town. The merciful count was a real noble- 
man ; but every one loved the countess better, as 
she was very kind to the poor, and especially to 
the little children. “That might be because her 
own child was such a puny,” the innkeeper re- 
marked, “ for she had only the one, the young 
Count Francis.” 

“He was nearly killed some time ago, so I 
heard,” said my cousin Auton. “ The ponies ran 
away with him, or something of the kind hap- 
pened — I forgot just how it was.” 

“Yes, the ponies ran away with him,” said the 
innkeeper, nodding; “and Vaclav the cow-boy 
caught them; but the brutes killed the poor fel- 
low, for the wheels went over his breast. Between 


172 The Forestman of Vimpek 


us, though,” he added, “this Vaclav was the 
count’s bastard son. A likely lad he was ! How 
proud he would have been to-day, poor boy, if he 
had lived to ride in the procession. But it is 
better he is dead,” said the innkeeper, decidedly ; 
“ he would only have been a thorn in the count’s 
side.” 

“ Does the count know ? ” asked cousin Loe. 

“ Why of course he does,” was the reply. “ But 
luckily it was none of his own people who told 
him the truth, or he might have borne them a 
grudge. As a general thing, you know, nobles 
don’t care to hear about their bastard children. 
Why ! it was Prokop, the shoemaker from your 
village, who told the count. He had just brought 
the smith his boots, when it happened. A small 
man, with white eyes, — you know him of course.” 

We acknowledged that we were acquainted 
with Prokop. 

“ He told him nicely, though, I will say, and so 
that the countess would not understand,” said the 
innkeeper. “ Oh ! your Prokop has seen the world ; 
he has wisdom. He is crabbed sometimes, but he 
seemed very sorry for the boy and for the countess ; 
we all are. It is said she is not very happy, but 
such people seldom are.” 

Just then we heard the blowing of trumpets, 


The Harvest-home Feast 


*73 


so we all went out. The innkeeper kindly pointed 
out to us a short cut, which he said we could take 
to the castle after the procession had passed. 

It was a beautiful procession. There were in 
all some twenty carts and wagons, all decorated 
with green boughs, wreaths of flowers, and grain. 
Bows of cheap ribbons were hanging from the 
heads and manes of the horses, and the horns of 
the oxen were garlanded with flowers. In the 
first cart rode the musicians, some twelve in num- 
ber. Next came a cart in which rode half-a-dozen 
maidens dressed in white, with green wreaths 
on their heads. They were, all of them, very 
pretty, and their hands were filled with flowers. 
After them followed the peasant women and girls 
who had worked in the fields ; they were all dressed 
in their best ; they carried spades, hoes, rakes, and 
every imaginable agricultural implement. 

Then came a handsome pair of horses dragging 
the sowing-machine, their tails and manes plaited 
and tied with ribbons. Following after these came 
the agricultural machines, in order; even the 
steam-engine was dragged by two pair of horses, 
so frightened at the music that they had to be 
led. Then came cart after cart, filled with 
women, children, girls, and boys, all of whom 
worked on the count’s estate. The last wagon 


174 The Forestman of Vimpek 


bore the last load of oats that had been har- 
vested, with the reapers sitting on it with their 
scythes ; they were all singing. And, what with 
the music and singing, and the shouting to the 
horses and oxen, who were half wild, there was 
a noise the like of which is seldom heard in our 
quiet region. 

One after the other, in a long line, they all 
passed the inn. When they reached the village 
chapel, one of the girls in white, attended by the 
others, placed on the altar a beautiful wreath of 
flowers interwoven with handfuls of grain. There 
was a dead silence as she did this, for every one 
was supposed to be thanking God for the harvest. 
Then the music struck up again, and round the 
chapel the procession went three times in the 
name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. 

After that we left them, and went, by the short 
cut, to the castle. From the castle one could see 
the whole village, and as we stood outside with 
the other lookers-on from different villages, we 
could see people in the castle gazing from the 
windows, or passing and repassing. 

Slowly the procession wound its way up the 
approach, the musicians playing bravely until they 
came to the castle stairs. There they all drew 
up and every one left the carts. There must 


The Harvest-home Feast 


*75 


have been several hundred, and they made an 
imposing sight. The musicians and the six girls 
dressed in white ascended the stairs, while the 
rest stood at a respectful distance below. Three 
of the prettiest girls came first, bearing beautiful 
wreaths of flowers interwoven with grains. The 
three others followed, each one carrying a tray. 
On one platter was a plate of kolatsche cakes, 
on the second were three small beer glasses, and 
on the third was fruit. 

When the six girls reached the top of the stairs 
the musicians struck up “ Kde domov muj ” (My 
Home). The merciful count, with the countess 
on his arm, came out leading by the hand the 
young Count Francis. He was a very beautiful 
little boy, and was dressed in black velvet, with 
a handsome lace collar. Behind them were the 
guests, and still farther back stood the servants 
and adherents. 

The prettiest of the six girls came forward ; 
she was perhaps seventeen. She had lovely 
golden hair, plaited around her head, and she 
was crowned with a wreath of myrtle. She came 
blushingly forward to within a few steps of the 
count and countess, holding the wreath before 
her, as she recited the poem that Jaroslav had 
written for the teacher Pravda to give to the 


176 The Forestman of Vimpek 


merciful count. She did not speak loud enough, 
and so we could not hear what she said ; but it 
was a pleasing sight. 

When she had finished she presented the count 
with the wreath. He thanked her, and in turn, 
presented it to the countess, who also thanked 
the girl. Then the second maiden came forward 
with her wreath; that was taken and kept by 
the count; after that the third came up, and 
presented ihe young Count Francis with his 
wreath. The little count smiled as he took it; 
but it was so heavy that a lackey sprang to the 
boy’s assistance and held the wreath for him. 
As the girls presented the wreaths, they each 
said, “To the illustrious family, many happy years, 
and good harvests ! ” 

Then the maiden with the plate of kolatsche 
cakes came forward, and presented “ God’s gift ! 
wheat to the merciful count and countess.” Each 
of them and also little Francis, took one of the 
cakes from the girl, and thanked her. Then the 
girl with the three beer glasses presented them 
to the merciful- count. He in turn, handed one 
to the countess, who took a sip, and handed it 
back with thanks. The merciful count, also drank 
a little, and put back his glass on the tray ; but 
little Francis, who was probably thirsty, took a 


The Harvest-home Feast 


177 


good drink before he handed back his glass, at 
which the peasants were delighted, and said among 
themselves, “ This little one will be a good Bohe- 
mian, and drink beer, rather than Austrian wine.’' 
Then the last maiden came; from her, each one 
took an apple, and the ceremony was at an end. 

The merciful count then came forward ; he 
thanked the peasants for the diligence they had 
shown in his service, and told them to go to the 
inn, where they would find everything prepared 
for them. Shouts of praise and hurrahs followed 
this announcement ; the band struck up a march, 
everybody got into the carts again, and all returned 
to the inn in the same order as they had come. 

We followed slowly, talking the matter over, and 
were soon overtaken by the teacher Pravda. He 
was radiant. 

“The merciful count and countess,” he said, 
“ have done me the honor to invite me to dinner, 
and the merciful countess was much pleased 
with the poem. She made a gift to the girl who 
recited it and asked her who had procured it 
for her. Indeed, she showed much interest when 
she heard that it was mine.” 

He was as triumphant as if he had really written 
it himself. I had half a mind to ask him whether 
the student had brought the cabbage into the 

N 


178 The Forestman of Vimpek 


poem ; but I did not wish to hurt his feelings, 
just as he was at the zenith of his fame. 

The dinner would be late, he told us, and there 
were many honored guests, mostly pfarrers (and 
here he expressed his sorrow that our pfarrer was 
unwell and unable to come) and estate owners 
from the neighborhood, so he was going to dress 
himself. 

To my certain knowledge he had on the only 
decent suit of clothes that he possessed, and I 
could not help wondering in what he proposed 
to array his long, thin body to meet the “illus- 
trious assembly,” as he called it. But I remem- 
bered an exceedingly precious treasure that once, 
in a moment of weakness, he had shown me — a 
white vest, that he had inherited from some rela- 
tion, which was always carefully wrapped in paper 
and laid away for state occasions. I should have 
liked to have asked him if he now meant to wear 
this precious garment; but I felt it would be a 
want of delicacy on my part. 

When we reached the inn, the people were 
already dancing, and the drivers and horse-boys 
were driving home their carts and beasts, so as 
to return and join the festivity as soon as pos- 
sible. We stayed a little while to watch them 
dancing the “ strasak ” ; then we, also, went home. 


The Harvest-home Feast 


179 


There was not much moonlight, and the castle 
windows were all in a blaze when we passed them. 
We trudged home over the stubbly fields, tired, 
but satisfied to have seen this vobzinky, for these 
harvest feasts are getting rarer from year to year. 
Almost every part of Bohemia has its own way 
of celebrating the harvest home; but as most of 
the noblemen lease their estates, it is not often 
that one sees so fine a one as this for which 
Pravda supplied the poem. 

“ All the good old customs are dying out among 
us,” said Loe. “ Soon Bohemia will be like every 
other country.” 

“ But they can never take our glorious past from 
us,” returned Auton. 

“No,” sighed Loe, “but unfortunately we live 
in the present.” 

“Therefore, we must try to make the present 
full of honor,” replied Auton. 

We had now reached our village; the dogs 
began to bark, but when they recognized us, they 
stopped. The teacher, Jan Marie Koldy, met us on 
the way. He was taking a little walk he told us, 
as he had a headache. Then he went on ; but he 
called back to Bedrich, saying he had wished to 
tell him and the boys, that in a certain meadow 
not far from us he had seen a lot of hazel-nuts. 


180 The Forestman of Vimpek 

“You had better pick them, lads,” he said, 
“ or, in a few days, they will be gone. The bushes 
are on your father’s field, next to the miller’s 
meadow.” 

We thanked him, and went on our way to our 
homes, and I, for one, was glad that I had seen 
the vobzinky. 


CHAPTER XIII 


Shopping 


T HE autumn set in cold and gloomy, and we 
began to prepare for the long winter in 
good earnest. Every one who could went into 
the forest, and brought out on their backs great 
fagots, which, to keep dry, they piled around 
their cottages, along the south wall, and up to 
the roof. In the evenings there was a great knit- 
ting of coarse woollen stockings ; those who knew 
how were spinning homespun yarn, of which pants 
and jackets were to be made. 

Sometimes our autumns are beautiful, with 
sunny days almost as warm as in summer, when 
the spiders’ webs hang everywhere, and the roads 
are aflame with the hips and haws of the wild 
roses, and the down of the great, tall purple this- 
tles; but this autumn of which I tell you settled 
down on us in gloomy, white mist, that hid the 
well-known mountains and gave to the familiar 
landscape an altered appearance. 

Morning after morning opened the same dull, 
181 


1 82 The Forestman of Vimpek 


sunless days ; the leaves began to wither and fall 
without changing theif hue, and the swallows col- 
lected together to fly away to more favored lands. 
Sometimes the sun would shine through the white 
mist like a ball of fire, and the clouds would lift 
for a little while, and reveal some well-known 
mountain ; then they would close upon us again 
like a veil. By this time most of our wanderers 
had come back, with more or less money in their 
pockets; they came from Austria, Bavaria, and 
other parts of Germany, and as they sat of an 
evening at the Bohemian Lion they told us the 
news of the great world beyond our mountains 
and forests, and we discussed emperors and kings 
at our leisure, like all the rest of the world. 

Those of us who belonged to the village were 
very busy in the forest, although, for that matter, 
we are always busy, the year round. In the spring 
we are planting new forests, where the old ones 
have been chopped down, or cutting the great 
trees to be sent to Hamburg and elsewhere ; or, 
later, cutting and splitting firing-wood for the 
glass-blowers and match factories that abound 
in our part of Bohemia. 

Owing to all this I had not been in the village 
for some time, and I was somewhat astonished to 
hear that Jan Marie’s wife was going to Prague 


Shopping 


183 

earlier than usual. So I made haste to look over 
my possessions in the line of birds’ eyes, silk 
thread, gold and silver ink, and other such little 
wants that had to be bought in Prague. Jan 
Marie’s wife went several times a year to Prague, 
and she was the only one in our part of the world 
who did. She went there to return the work that 
had been intrusted to her skilful fingers, and she 
would bring back whatever any of us asked her 
to, providing we gave her the money for our pur- 
chases. A week or two before it was known that 
she was going on her journey, all the village went 
to the schoolhouse to tell her their wants, and 
handed over their money, first carefully counting 
it two or three times to be sure it was quite right. 
Jan Marie’s wife listened to everything and every- 
body, took the money, after having counted it over 
once more, and bought the things. She never 
volunteered any advice or made any remark what- 
ever, no matter how unusual the purchase might 
be. Neither did she ever ask a kreuzer for her 
expenses ; but if people brought her a basket of 
plums or a bit of butter or anything else, she took 
it with the usual “ God requite you,” and that was 
all. 

My aunt and the pfarrer’s housekeeper gener- 
ally bought their spices together, and divided them 


184 The Forestman of Vimpek 


afterward, as they said it came cheaper to buy a 
quarter or half pound at once. I had written out 
the list for my aunt, and then I had added my 
own orders. It is not at all necessary that one’s 
aunt should know everything that one buys, I said 
to myself, as I pulled on my boots and started for 
the village. 

As I came near the church, whom should I 
meet but Vavra. He was carrying, with great 
care, a small bundle done up with red and white 
ribbons. He was followed by a pfarrer from 
another village, in a long, blue coat with silver 
buttons, and by several women in their best attire. 
As I stood aside to let them pass, Vavra noticed 
me, and a smile lit up his rather heavy face. 

“ Well, old fellow,” he said, “ you are not an old 
woman. Come here and see my boy, if you like.” 

Thus invited, I drew near, and Vavra lifted the 
cloth a little that hid the baby’s face. To my 
appreciative eyes the little one looked for all the 
world like a withered apple. But of course I 
blessed it fervently, and made the sign of the 
cross over its little face as soon as I had set eyes 
on it, for this is the custom among us. And I 
declared, then and there, that it was a beautiful 
child and did honor to the village. 

“ I am carrying him myself, so that he will not 


Shopping 


185 

be drowned,” Vavra explained. “ He is to be called 
Vaclav, after the blessed St. Vaclav, the patron 
saint of Bohemia, and his godfather here. It is 
a lucky name — much better than Zerubbabel.” 

As Vaclav happens to be my own name, I 
tried to look wise and flattered and lucky, all at 
once. 

“ It’s as good a name as another,” the farmer 
went on ; “ and if a king bore it once it’s good 
enough for the like of us. St. Vaclav was a great 
king and a martyr.” 

There was no denying this, and I declared very 
decidedly that he was quite right. If there was 
any name on earth lucky, that name was Vaclav ; 
and, having taken snuff together upon our both 
being named Vaclav, I went my way. 

I walked on to the schoolhouse, climbed the 
rather steep stairs that led to Jan Marie’s apart- 
ment over the schoolroom, and rapped at the door. 
When it opened I was not a little astonished to 
see the teacher, Frantisk Pravda, sitting on a chair 
and holding a brand new hat in his hand, as though 
afraid to put it down, lest it might come to harm. 

“Yes,” Pravda was saying, “it is a great re- 
sponsibility. The education of a young count is 
a weighty matter, not to be lightly thought of, I 
assure you.” 


1 86 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Jan Marie’s wife nodded, but she said nothing. 
She never did say much, and Pravda was not a 
man who required an answer. He could talk by 
the hour himself, quite content with his own elo- 
quence. 

Seeing me, he rose, and welcomed me with great 
warmth. 

“ I am so glad to see you,” he said (I had not 
seen him since the “harvest home”). “There is 
no one I desire to see more than you ; indeed, I 
was thinking of going into the forest to find 
you.” 

Not being a particular friend of Pravda’s I was 
not a little astonished at this reception. But I put 
on my most agreeable smile and shook his thin 
hand with apparent cordiality, waiting for further 
developments. 

“ I was telling our mutual friend here,” he con- 
tinued, “that the merciful count had thought me 
worthy of teaching his only son the rudiments of 
our language ; and, owing to his munificence and 
my savings, I have been able to send my eldest 
son, Karel, to Prague to study for a teacher. I 
have come here to-day to ask Jan Marie’s wife to 
take these woollen socks to Prague — my boy’s 
mother knit them for him ; and I was going to 
try and see you about a bird.” 


Shopping 


187 

“ A bird ! ” I asked, not a little astonished. 
“What kind of a bird?” 

“ I was thinking that an owl would be very 
suitable.” 

“ An owl ! ” I exclaimed ; “ suitable for what ? ” 

“The merciful young count’s name-day — it is , 
Francis Serof, you know — is on the fourth of 
next month, and I was thinking that an owl 
would be an appropriate present. Don’t you 
think so ?” 

“Perhaps,” I replied doubtfully, “but where do 
you propose to get the owl, Frantisk Pravda?” 

“ I was thinking perhaps you had one on hand,” 
he replied. “Jacob told me, once, that he had 
seen one in your house. It was a beautiful owl 
with yellow eyes ! All the world knows how skil- 
ful you are in stuffing birds, Vaclav, and I thought 
that not only the little count would be pleased, but 
that it would be a recommendation for you, my 
friend. Perhaps the count might give you a large 
order some day.” 

This was a delicate compliment; but unfortu- 
nately the owl was no longer in my possession ; 
neither did I care for the count’s patronage. 
Having a roof over my head, and potatoes enough 
in the cellar to last over the winter, I could afford 
to laugh in every one’s face ; but I was really sorry 


1 88 The Forestman of Vimpek 


for Pravda, who had apparently set his hopes on 
this owl. 

“ My dear friend,” I said, “ as soon as I have 
any bird ready, along comes some indefatigable 
person in the shape of a city gentleman, and begs 
it for some museum. The owl in question is in 
Pilsen. The only stuffed thing I have now on 
hand is Prokop’s yellow cat, that he gave my aunt 
on her name-day. He showed an abnormal lik- 
ing for young hares, instead, as we had fondly 
expected, of contenting himself with mice and 
rats ; in a word, he was an intractable as his giver. 
Owing to our different views on this subject, I was 
reluctantly compelled to assist him to a wider field 
of activities. But he is far more imposing in death 
than he ever was in life, and I do not think my 
aunt would part with him.” 

While we were holding this conversation, the 
pfarrer’s housekeeper came in, followed by Jan 
Marie himself ; the consultation was now taken up 
seriously, when Pravda had explained to our sym- 
pathizing ears the nature of his difficulties, and 
how he desired to get a stuffed owl, or some- 
thing suitable, for the young count’s name-day 
present. 

“ But why an owl, Frantisk Pravda ? ” asked 
the pfarrer’s housekeeper. “Would not another 


Shopping 


189 


bird do as well ? An owl is a solemn bird, and the 
merciful young count might get the nightmare 
after seeing it, and then where would you be ? ” 

This was a thought too horrible to be entertained 
for a moment, and Pravda at once relinquished the 
owl. 

“ But what can I give him, then ? ” he asked, 
regarding us anxiously. 

Our opinions and suggestions were various, but 
they were all unsatisfactory, being things that 
would have been suitable enough for a boy of five 
or six born in our village, but not for a young 
count of exalted parentage. I was about to retire, 
when I heard the pfarrer’s heavy step on the stairs 
and took heart. The pfarrer was a man of great 
resources and wide experience. 

He did not seem at all astonished when the 
housekeeper told him of the owl, but he approved 
her advice. 

“ It might disturb the young count’s slumbers,” 
he said ; “ such children are generally of a weak 
nervous temperament. But as an instructor of 
youth, you ought to give him an appropriate 
present, Pravda,” he added. 

This we all knew ; but what should it be ? And 
where would Pravda be able to get it ? And for 
nothing, or next to nothing ? 


190 The Forestman of Vimpek 


The pfarrer took a pinch of snuff out of a 
wooden carved box that Jan Marie handed round. 

“Now here is a lucky thing,” he continued. “I 
have just heard that, in the next village, a retired 
shopkeeper is visiting his family at the Red Farm, 
opposite the church. This shopkeeper, I under- 
stand, has written a work about the adulteration 
of sweets — candy, chocolates, and what not.” 

We were so impressed with the news that not a 
soul of us asked a question, and the pfarrer, after 
a pause, went on. 

“Now, Pravda,” he said, “ I advise you strongly 
to go to that village, and visit that retired shop- 
keeper. Interest yourself on the subject of sweets 
in general, and I have no doubt but what he will 
present you with a copy of his book. Authors 
are fond of giving away their books to appreciative 
people, so I am told, and it would be just the 
thing for your young count.” 

If the pfarrer had won a battle, single-handed, 
he could not have won greater respect and admira- 
tion. Frantisk Pravda went over to him and 
shook hands. 

“Your reverence,” he said, “I am very grate- 
ful to you. I will go at once to that village.” 
And bidding us “ God’s peace,” he departed. 

“Poor man,” said the pfarrer after he had gone. 


Shopping 


191 


“ I hope he will get that book. It is not easy to 
bring up six children on the pittance Pravda has 
as village teacher ; I am glad the merciful count 
lets him teach his little boy Bohemian, though he 
has a resident German tutor, I hear. Pravda is a 
kind father to his children, and an indulgent hus- 
band to his sickly wife. He has his troubles in 
plenty, poor man ; but he bears them bravely, and 
half starves himself to send Karel to college. A 
worthy man.” 

We all knew that what the pfarrer said was 
true, and nodded our heads. 

“He is an excellent man,” said Jan Marie, who, 
it seemed to me, was looking even thinner and 
paler than usual. 

“ Do you know that we have a new Christian 
name in our village?” said the pfarrer. “Vavra 
has another son, and I have just baptized him 
Vaclav. And we are likely to have two weddings 
soon. Hynek the carpenter is keeping company 
with a widow, I hear ; and Rosalia’s mother told 
me that, as soon as his time is up, the miller’s 
hired man is going to marry the little blond thing 
that lives with her. It is a love match, I believe, 
as they neither of them have anything.” 

“Perhaps they will be just as happy,” said Jan 
Marie. 


192 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ Perhaps/' answered the pfarrer doubtfully, 
taking another pinch of snuff. “ Albina,” he 
said (he was the only one in the village who 
called Jan Marie’s wife by her name), “you 
will not forget my things, I know, especially the 
bulbs and flower seeds ? ” 

Jan Marie’s wife looked up. “ I will not forget 
them, your reverence,” she said, and the pfarrer 
continued: “Jacob has come over to arrange my 
beehives for the winter, and take out some of the 
honey. If you are passing by, either of you, come 
to me, and I will give you some in the comb, before 
it has been boiled.” Then, wishing us a pleasant 
“ With God,” the pfarrer took his departure. 

I was just about to follow his example, having 
given Jan Marie’s wife my list and money, when 
Josef, the keeper of the Bohemian Lion, came 
stumbling up the stairs to say he had hired a cart 
to take them to the next town, to the railway 
station. They always took a cart together, as it 
came cheaper. 

“Stay,” he said, catching my coat-tail as I 
was about to depart ; “ I always forget half the 
things I want to buy in the town. You stay 
here till Jan Marie has written the list, and 
you can remind me if I forget anything. I must 
be very careful now and forget nothing, as I 


Shopping 193 

have a rival since Hynek started his new estab- 
lishment.” 

The landlord held my coat-tail with a grip of 
iron ; so, with as good grace as I could, I sub- 
mitted to the recital of a long list of articles, 
which Jan Marie, pen in hand, put to paper. 

“Is that all?” said Josef, staring at me inquir- 
ingly as he finished. 

“ Let me see,” I said, counting on my fingers : 
“little cheeses, herrings, nuts, candies, — what 
was the next thing, Jan Marie?” 

Josef let go of my coat-tail to look at the list 
and count for himself, whereupon I fled down the 
stairs at the risk of breaking my neck, and took 
my way home. 

What an exciting life these people in the village 
do lead, I said to myself. It quite wears one out. 
They go from one social gathering to another, and 
live in a perfect whirl of excitement. Well, thank 
Heaven ! I said, my shopping is done for at least 
six months. 

The white mist was closing all about, as I 
wandered back home to my forest. Even the 
nearest mountain peaks were hidden. How peace- 
ful were the trees. In the distance, I could catch 
the gleam of my aunt’s lamp, set in the little 
window, and I knew that the evening soup would 


o 


194 The Forestman of Vimpek 


be ready, and a -dry pair of woollen socks laid 
on my bed. Well, there are worse places to live 
in than Bohemia, I declared, even if my own vil- 
lage is given up to social gatherings, and worldly 
luxuries and vanities. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A Night in the Forest 

HE winter came on, at last; it was a terrible 



I winter, one of the worst I can remember. 
Whole villages in the Bohemian Forest were 
snowed up, and communication almost stopped. 
The dead lay frozen on their boards in the garrets, 
as it was impossible to bury them, and the living 
nearly died of hunger, as they could not go to the 
markets to sell their wooden shoes, baskets, wooden 
rakes, willow baskets, and other things that occupy 
them during the winter, when it is impossible to 
work in the forest and buy provisions. 

Every day the snow became deeper. I could 
hardly fight my way to where the wood-choppers 
were at work in the clearings. On the night of 
the fourteenth of December, a storm broke out, 
that for strength and violence will be remembered 
for years. It had snowed all that morning, first 
in great snowflakes, then fine and dry as flour, and 
cold as though from the north pole. Toward 


196 The Forestman of Vimpek 


midday the wind rose — the north wind, cutting 
like a sword. Most of the wood-choppers had 
remained at home ; but five, who were very poor 
and had many children, had dared to go to their 
work as usual in the forest 

They will have the sense to come home, when 
they hear the wind rising, I thought; and then I 
remembered that they were in rather a sheltered 
spot, and that the forest would be a dangerous 
place before the poor men could get away. It 
made me uneasy, for we had lost more than one 
man, through falling trees ; so, taking my gun and 
brandy flask, I determined to go and bring them 
home. It was not late, but it was already growing 
dark in the forest, and the wind howled through 
the tops of the trees. 

By the time I came to the clearing I found the 
men just about to go home; but, in the meanwhile, 
the storm had risen with such fury that we were 
afraid to leave; so we decided to pass the night 
in a log hut built not far from the spot for just 
such emergencies; Such log huts are to be found 
at different places all over the forest. It was not 
far, but we had to fight our way to it, half blinded 
by the snow that stung our faces like hornets. 
Trees were being snapped on all sides, and we 
were only too glad to reach the hut unharmed. 


A Night in the Forest 


l 9 7 


I have heard people describe storms at sea, and 
they must be terrible; but storms in the forest 
are quite as dreadful. 

We built a fire in the middle of the hut, out of 
the wood piled at one side, and we cowered around 
it, while blast after blast threatened to blow our 
hut away, and, all about us, we heard the sound of 
breaking and falling trees, that brought down also, 
in their fall, great branches and smaller trees. 
Between us, we emptied my brandy bottle and 
heaped more wood on the fire ; but in spite of it 
all we shivered with cold, as the wind blew through 
the chinks and crevices of our log shelter, and 
almost froze our backs while we roasted our 
faces. 

There was nothing in the log hut but the pile 
of wood on one side and the bed of dried moss 
on the other; so we had to make up our minds 
to go without supper, and be glad if, in our wet 
clothes, we did not freeze to death through the 
night. 

I have passed many such nights in my life, from 
my boyhood up ; but this storm was one of the 
worst. The wind whistled, screeched, moaned, 
and growled; occasionally we thought that we 
heard human voices calling for help, whereupon 
my companions hastily crossed themselves. It 


198 The Forestman of Vimpek 


blew a hurricane, and amidst all the roaring we 
still heard the crash of falling trees, now near, 
now far away. 

It was all we could do to keep the fire burning ; 
but our lives depended upon it, as the cold was 
intense, and we were growing sleepy. More than 
once I had to shake a companion, who began to 
nod, and to rouse the others with dreadful stories 
of the dangers around us. Then they would sit up 
and begin to talk of this one or that, who had met 
death in the forest, alone in some snowdrift, and 
whose skeleton was only found, months afterward ; 
or of others, who were said to have seen a forest 
nymph, and who were never themselves after a 
night passed alone in the forest, during a storm. 
Only the year before, six men, we remembered, 
had been found frozen to death in just such a hut 
as we were in ; and then my companions crossed 
themselves and thought of their wives and chil- 
dren, who were praying for them to the Madonna 
before the crucifix at home. Such storms had 
been known to rage for days, and not a few fine, 
strong fellows, had tried to fight their way home, 
only to fall exhausted in a snowdrift, or to be 
brought home sleeping, never to wake. 

Now and then one of us would get up and 
stretch his cramped limbs, and put more wood on 


A Night in the Forest 


1 99 


the fire, while we listened to the storm as it raged 
at the door. 

So the wild night passed, and though the howl- 
ing without was as loud as ever, we did not hear 
the trees cracking, and concluded that the storm 
was growing less. About eight the little window 
became visible, and we knew it must be morning. 

Stiff with cold we crept out and tried to be 
cheerful, though we saw at a glance that the dam- 
age done was enormous. Trees without number 
had been twisted and broken, and almost uprooted. 
Sadly we went our several ways, and at last I 
reached home. Icicles hung about my face, and 
my clothes were as stiff as if newly starched. My 
poor aunt was overjoyed to see me. She had not 
known that I was in the forest till she missed me 
at supper, and then she had quietly lighted the 
lamp under the crucifix, and, as the wind rose, 
she also lit the wax candle, and prayed on her 
rosary for my safe return. 

“ See ! ” she said, “ the good God and the Ma- 
donna heard me, and you are safe home again.” 

Indeed, no harm did come to me, except that I 
caught a severe cold that kept me at home, shiver- 
ing by the fire. When the village heard that I 
was sick with a cold, and that I was hoarse, they 
came to me with remedies as usual, all of which 


200 The Forestman of Vimpek 


were infallible (if one only believed in them) ; for 
they had cured people much more sick than I 
was, and whom the doctors, of course, had given 
up. 

The pfarrer came one day, accompanied by 
Vavra. The pfarrer brought me honey. Vavra 
contributed horseradish that he must have pil- 
fered from the miller’s garden, for that careful 
body was never known to give any one anything 
in his life. The horseradish was to be grated fine, 
Vavra said, and mixed with honey, and swallowed 
slowly. This, he declared, would cure hoarseness ; 
it was an infallible remedy. My aunt had also 
heard of its efficiency, so she began grating it joy- 
fully, and soon brought me the mess in a cup. 
Her eyes were full of tears, but, I am glad to say, 
not on my account. 

The pfarrer had not only come to see me and 
bring me the honey, but to consult me about a 
matter of business, which he began to unfold to 
me when Vavra had taken his departure for 
another part of the forest. The merciful count, 
the pfarrer said, had written (he seldom wrote, 
thank heaven ! ) that the gypsy lad whom he had 
left in charge of his ruined castle, had taken to 
his heels, probably to resume his wandering life 
with his brethren, and he would like us to find 


A Night in the Forest 


201 


some one to fill this desirable post, and keep an 
eye on what was left of the castle, to see that 
no one stole the stones to build cottages with. 

“The merciful count is almost as great a wan- 
derer as the gypsies whom he loves,” I ventured 
to say ; but I saw a grave look come over the 
pfarrer’s face and settle in his eyes. 

“It is not our place,” he said, “to criticise the 
merciful count’s tastes, but to attend to his wishes.” 

“Very good,” I said, blowing my nose with 
unnecessary violence ; “ attend to them, then.” 

But the pfarrer was a man of resources. He 
replied that he had attended to the matter, and 
had come to the conclusion that Jacob Klobasa 
was the right man. 

“Jacob Klobasa!” I said (remembering the 
ants and the mushrooms). “ If you are looking 
out for an accomplished thief and ne’er-do-well, 
Jacob is your man ; there is not a doubt of that ! ” 

“You see,” remarked the pfarrer, “no one else 
would be likely to live in that castle. True, a 
few rooms are still inhabitable, but even they are 
said to be haunted. Now Jacob is not afraid of 
ghosts.” 

That certainly was a great advantage, and I 
said so. 

“Besides that,” said the pfarrer, “there is 


202 The Forestman of Vimpek 


nothing to steal, unless it be the mice and rats ; 
for it is unfurnished ; Jacob could prowl about the 
forest there as well as here, you know, and we 
should be rid of him.” 

That was the greatest advantage of all, and I 
praised the pfarrer’s wisdom in my heart ; but I 
only sneezed my approval. 

“ I thought I must mention the matter to you,” 
he said, “ as Jacob sometimes works for you at the 
wood-chopping, I understand.” 

“ You are welcome to him, Herr Pfarrer,” I 
said hastily, “heartily welcome. Make him guard- 
ian of the castle ; let him enter the merciful count’s 
service, by all means ; he will do as well as the 
gypsy lad, anyway.” 

“ I do not know about that,” replied the pfarrer. 
“ The merciful count thought a great deal of that 
boy ; he wished to educate him and put him on a 
farm ; but, of course, the lad would have none of 
it. He thought a deal of the lad, as well he 
might; but, of course, you know all about it.” 

“ I know nothing, except that the merciful count 
likes gypsies, and wrote to me to let them alone, 
when I met them in his forests,” I replied ; “ I was 
very glad to do so, for there is no love lost be- 
tween gypsies and forestmen, as you well know.” 

Upon this, the pfarrer told me a tale so strange, 


A Night in the Forest 


203 


that if he had not assured me that he had heard it 
from the merciful count himself I would not have 
believed it. As it was, it struck me as so strange, 
that being confined to my room, and having nothing 
to do, I wrote it down, afterward, for further study, 
should I ever see the gypsy boy Jokel again, in 
the forest. 

While we were talking, Jan Marie Koldy came 
in. He had been visiting Rosalia’s mother, where 
he had heard of my sickness, and came with an- 
other remedy. This was more to my taste, at first, 
being a bottle of Pilsner beer ; but when I heard 
that I was to add half a coffee-cup of salt to it, my 
enthusiasm passed away. Jan Marie did not hesi- 
tate to tell me that he had never tried the mixture 
himself ; but the miller had praised it to him. “ It 
turns one inside out,” he told me. 

Having no desire to be turned inside out, I regret 
to say that I did not try the mixture ; but I drank 
the beer, the moment Jan Marie’s back was turned, 
and I found it excellent. 

We all got to talking ; I growled and sneezed at 
times by way of answer, and so I heard all the 
news of the village. The miller, they said, had 
hired a lad in place of Vavra, who now worked on 
his father-in-law’s farm ; the new lad was a great 
strapping fellow, strong as an ox, and from the 


204 The Forestman of Vimpek 


village behind the mountains. And Rosalia’s 
mother, who was nearly blind, would have to get 
some one else to live with her as companion, they 
told me, for there was a new rumor about the 
bonny girl with blue eyes and chestnut hair, who 
had lived there since Rosalia died. 

So we chatted together, till my aunt brought 
in the coffee. Now my aunt hardly ever leaves 
the house, but to my great astonishment she knew 
more than all three of us put together. 

The miller’s hired lad, she said, was dead in love 
with the girl who lived with Rosalia’s mother, 
just as the pfarrer had told me months before. 
Every time he went in the town with flour, my 
aunt said, he brought the girl gingerbread hearts, 
and the like ; and as they were both as poor as 
a wooden shoe, they would probably get married. 

Then two of the village women had got to high 
words, she said, because their chickens insisted on 
laying their eggs in the wrong nests; as though 
chickens were Christians, and knew the difference 
between yours and mine. 

“ Argue the question with them, aunt,” I said ; 
“ make the chickens know the difference, if you 
can. Rather shut them up for a day or two in 
their own coops, instead of calling one another 


names. 


A Night in the Forest 


205 


“ Some animals have more sense than people,” 
said the teacher. “ I once had a poodle with pink 
eyes. Now that dog smelt death. He would 
howl all the night before any one in the village 
died.” 

“You are right,” said my aunt, “dogs know 
when people are about to die. It makes me 
shiver whenever I hear them howling in the 
night.” 

“Nonsense!” said the pfarrer; “they are 
howling at the moon or the cats.” 

“ Then why does some one always die, after 
such a production, Herr Pfarrer ? ” said my aunt, 
clearing the table. 

“ Dear heavens ! ” said the pfarrer ; “ if some 
one had to die every time a poodle barked at a cat 
or the moon, we pfarrers would soon be rich.” 

“ But strange things do happen now and then,” 
said the teacher. 

“ You are right,” my aunt said, nodding sol- 
emnly. “ In the autumn, I went to visit some of 
my relations, the Chalupas, you know, and a 
cousin of mine, Maria, told me a strange experi- 
ence she once had. She was nurse to the young 
Count Egon, and she declared that his mother, the 
merciful countess, took him to heaven, and that 
she can swear to it.” 


20 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ If your cousin Maria would get married, and 
have a lot of children to take care of,” said the 
pfarrer, “she would do better than filling people’s 
heads with such silly nonsense. The match-maker 
told me he had proposed more than one decent lad 
to her ; but she would have nothing to say to them. 
To remain a widow at her age, and with only one 
child ! Who ever heard of such a thing ? ” 

“ I do not believe she was lying,” said Jan 
Marie, who had listened carefully. “ She cer- 
tainly has nothing to gain by it, I imagine. I had 
a strange experience, myself, not long ago. It was 
on the evening of All Souls and as usual, here in 
Bohemia, Ferdinand the bell-ringer was tolling the 
bell at midnight for the good of their souls. I 
had been visiting friends and was a little in a 
hurry ; but I stopped when I heard him, and I 
could also hear the bells of half a dozen villages 
tolling. It was a solemn moment, and I thought 
how glad the poor souls must be to be remembered 
once a year ; so I began to pray the litany of the 
Faithful Departed,” — and the teacher recited it: 

“ Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, 

Give them rest. 

Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, 

Give them eternal rest.” 

“It was rather a windy night,” he continued, 


A Night in the Forest 


207 


“ but the moon was bright enough to distinguish 
objects, and I was standing not far from the vil- 
lage near the forest, when I suddenly heard a 
voice call ‘ Jan Marie.’ ” 

“ Jesus be with us ! ” said my aunt, “ of course 
you did not answer ? ” 

The teacher nodded his head and went on. 

“ I was so astonished at first, that I hardly 
dared to look about,” he said ; “ but when I did, 
no one was to be seen, and I thought perhaps it 
was the wind, and went on with my praying : — 

“‘God the Father of heaven, 

Have mercy on the suffering souls.’ 

“But the voice came again, and quite near to 
me this time, and it called ‘Jan Marie.’ I must 
acknowledge here, that a shiver went down my 
back. I looked about ; no one was near me, and 
Ferdinand was still tolling the bell. No harm can 
touch me, I thought, while I am praying, and I 
went on with the litany : — 

“ ‘ That it may please thee to have mercy on all those who 
have none in the world to remember or pray for them, 
We beseech thee, hear us!’ 

“This time, the voice sounded as if some one 
were calling, close beside me, ‘Jan Marie!’ The 
bell ceased to toll. I heard the clock strike one, 
and I went home more dead than alive.” 


208 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“If you had answered that voice/’ said my 
aunt, crossing herself, “you would have been a 
dead man, to-day.” 

For a while nobody said anything more. We 
all knew such stories, and had heard of people 
who had gone through just such experiences. 
Then the teacher said the travelling was very bad, 
and he must be going ; the pfarrer also rose, and 
they took their departure. 

When they were fairly out of sight, I drank the 
beer with great relish, much to the horror of my 
aunt, who had concocted a horrid tea that she in- 
sisted upon my drinking. She was quite upset, 
poor woman, with the teacher’s story, and she told 
me she would burn a light all night before the 
crucifix, to keep us from harm. 


CHAPTER XV 


My Aunt's Cousin 

M Y aunt had not been well all winter. She, 
too, had caught cold in the autumn, but 
somehow could not shake it off as I did, and her 
soul was much disturbed about her spinning. 
For reasons best known to herself she still insisted 
upon speaking and thinking of me as a “mar- 
riageable young man,” and she had, every year, 
planted a patch of flax and spun the thread 
with a view to my having plenty of house linen, 
when the longed-for time of my wedding should 
come. 

As long as she did the spinning herself and 
did not invite all the girls in the village to help 
her, I said nothing, and endured the everlasting 
whir-whir, with as much philosophy as I could 
muster ; but when she told me, one fine morning 
at the end of March, that she had invited her 
cousin Maria, from near Vorlik, to visit her and 
help with the spinning and bleaching, and that 
I must hire one of our small two-seated carts, 
p 209 


2io The Forestman of Vimpek 


which we call a pricka, in order to bring her 
cousin to our village, my wrath burst forth. 

“You know,” I said, “I hate visitors, widows 
especially ; and as to helping you with the linen, 
— why! you have a chest full already.” 

“ Men never understand such things,” said my 
aunt, loftily ; and then went from the room, bang- 
ing the door behind her. 

Now I am as brave as another, but when my 
aunt takes on that air I know there is danger 
ahead, and years of experience have taught me 
to give in at once with as good grace as possi- 
ble, for yield I must in the end. So taking my 
hat, I went down to the village to see about the 
pricka. 

Coming to the Bohemian Lion, I found all 
the village assembled. The lads were drinking 
and singing together, while, standing outside in 
groups, were the mothers and sisters and woe- 
begone sweethearts of the lads. I had forgotten 
all about it, but this was the day of the conscrip- 
tion in the next town, and all the lads of twenty 
in our own and surrounding villages had received 
orders to present themselves. They were some 
forty in all, most of them tall and stalwart, blue- 
eyed and blond-haired young fellows; they were 
dressed in their Sunday best and had cheap 


My Aunt’s Cousin 


21 1 


cigars in their mouths as the sign of their manly 
independence and luxurious tastes. 

Outside the inn the women stood about and 
talked with one another; some were sobbing 
loudly behind their handkerchiefs, and almost all 
had red eyes from weeping. They were silently 
following the lads, to learn as soon as possible 
whether their boys had been taken for three years, 
or had been left to them. 

As to the boys themselves, they were singing 
and drinking, while the band that they had en- 
gaged to lead them to the town was playing 
march after march. Most of the lads were 
already flushed with drinking, and, every now 
and then, one of them would go to the musicians, 
and throwing a silver florin in the plate before the 
players, would call out, “ Play for me, musicians ! 
play the ‘ Hyrdecky March ’ ! ” 

Now, Hyrdecky, you must know, was a cele- 
brated Austrian general to whom this martial air 
was dedicated, and, as it is considered a sign of 
want of spirit for a lad to be downcast at the con- 
scription, many a poor boy saves up his money 
for months, so as to be able to pay the musicians 
for the “ Hyrdecky March,” and also to get drunk 
on that day. 

As I stood looking at them, the musicians came 


2i2 The Forestman of Vimpek 


out of the Bohemian Lion two and two. They 
were playing away for dear life, and were followed 
by all the striplings, laughing, singing, and whis- 
tling. 

“ Behind all this mirth, there are hearts of lead,” 
said one of the women, standing near. “ Our 
Karel is among the tallest. Poor lad! he will 
be surely taken.” 

“Good mother, our Jan is also with them,” said 
Vavra. “What can one do? Nothing! He is 
my youngest and favorite brother ; but can I help 
him? Not a bit!” 

Behind the lads at some distance followed the 
women and girls, with here and there a man, in 
a long blue coat with silver buttons, father or 
uncle to one of the boys. As we stood together 
and looked after them, the band struck up the 
national song, “ Sweet Death ” ; the lads began to 
sing, and their fresh young voices, drowning the 
music and caught up by the mountains, came back 
in clear, melodious echoes. Distinctly we could 
hear every word from where we stood, listening: 

u ‘ A youth rides swiftly on his steed — 

He rides to battle. 

The war-horse gladly neighs and leaps, 

At home his poor mother sadly weeps, 

P'or her darling son, 

For her darling son. 


My Aunt’s Cousin 


213 


“‘Weep not, weep not, my mother dear, 

For your loving son; 

I go that you I may defend, 

And our dear country’s flag attend, 

Even if I die, 

Even if I die. 

“‘In time to you I’ll come again, 

On my battle-steed. 

Bohemians cannot cowards be, 

The thick of the battle we will see, 

I and my steed, 

I and my steed. 

Ne’er to come again ; 

“ ‘ But should I in the battle fall 
Then remember, mother dear, 

No Bohemian does ever fear 
For his land to die, 

For his land to die.’ ” 

So we lost sight of them singing their brave 
songs, and tramping down the muddy highway to 
the music of the band. 

“ How many have gone away from us singing 
like that, never to come back again/’ said the 
miller, who was standing near Vavra, and whose 
heavy face was filled with sorrow. “ Fifty years 
ago, as a boy I watched my eldest brother go 
down that same highway. The band played as it 
does now ; the lads sung as they are now singing ; 
but Jaroslav never came back to see us again. He 


2i4 The Forestman of Vimpek 


lies buried in Italy, somewhere. Peace be to his 
soul ! ” and the miller crossed himself. 

“ Yes ; peace to their souls ! ” said the bystand- 
ers, crossing themselves. And we all silently 
thought of the lads, who, not so long before, had 
gone from among us, laughing and singing, and 
who now lie in their last sleep in far-away Bosnia 
or over the Turkish border. 

It was a gloomy, windy day ; the mud lay thick 
on the road, and the wind moaned in the forest. 
Sadly we turned away from one another and went 
about our business. Our hearts were in the old 
town far away and with the lads who had left us. 

But my aunt’s cousin must be attended to ; so, 
after wandering over half the village, I succeeded 
in persuading a farmer to lend me a pricka for 
the afternoon ; then I went home. My aunt, who 
I suppose was pleased with my submission, had 
cooked my favorite dish for dinner, and I regaled 
myself in dignified silence while she fidgeted about, 
anxious to hear the news but not willing to ques- 
tion me. One is always more good-tempered after 
dinner than before ; so when she brought me a cup 
of coffee as a peace offering, I relented and told 
her all the news — what lads had gone to the con- 
scription, and what every one had said about them. 
And, as they were all strapping fellows, I said 


My Aunt’s Cousin 


2x5 


that they would probably all be taken. Then I 
told her I had borrowed a pricka, and that she 
had better go and get ready so that we could go 
to the village and start in time. 

It was a muddy walk, and we were glad when 
we reached the village and had harnessed the 
white mare in the pricka, so that one could trot 
comfortably down* the highway. The railway sta- 
tion is some two hours’ ride from our village, and 
stands by itself, as do most Bohemian stations, a 
long walk from the nearest town. I had never 
seen my aunt’s cousin, and indeed she was so dis- 
tantly related that she was hardly a cousin at all ; 
but my aunt told me that she was a decent, quiet 
body of settled years and disposition, very skilful 
at spinning and at every kind of woman’s work. 
So much the better, thought I to myself, as we 
jogged along. 

As soon as I saw Maria, I felt sure that my aunt 
had spoken the truth. She was not a handsome 
person ; but she gave one the impression of peace 
and quietness, and her voice v for a peasant’s, was 
low, and had something sympathetic about it. She 
was dressed like a Bohemian peasant woman of 
the better class, and from her arm hung a heavy 
basket, which, so I afterward found, was filled with 
presents for my aunt. 


2 i 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


She told us that she had been rather lonely- 
after her mother’s death; and now that Jan, her 
son, had gone to Prague to learn the silversmith’s 
trade, she was glad to visit my aunt, and to help 
her with the spinning and housecleaning over the 
spring. 

‘‘Jan is a clever lad,” said my aunt’s cousin, 
“and, thanks to the generosity of the merciful 
count, I have been able to pay to have the boy 
taught a better trade. I was the young Count 
Egon’s nurse, you know,” she explained, “and 
when he died some years ago, the merciful count 
made me a handsome present.” 

I did not see much of her after we reached home, 
for in March and April we have a great deal to 
do in the forest, planting out millions of young 
trees, where the clearings have been made, and I 
spent my days in the sunshine looking at the men 
and women planting, and at the mountains, where, 
surrounded by the dark old forest, the rye and 
clover fields lay, already beginning to look green. 

But one wild afternoon, when the cold had come 
back suddenly, ■ when the wind moaned through 
the forest like a lost soul and the rain fell in tor- 
rents, I had to stay at home. The women were 
knitting and I was cleaning my gun. My aunt 
had been talking of the superstition that, if any 


My Aunt's Cousin 


217 


one hangs himself, there is always a terrible wind ; 
she was quite sure that it was true; indeed, she 
had related, at length, to convince me, all the cases 
that she had ever heard of. Her cousin went on 
knitting silently. 

At last, my aunt turned upon her and said, 
“ Maria, tell this unbelieving Thomas about the 
death of the young Count Egon.” 

It seemed to me that my aunt’s cousin turned 
pale and shuddered slightly at this request ; at 
any rate she seemed very reluctant to speak at all, 
and it was only after much persuasion that she 
would tell me the story. Would you hear it, also ? 
Listen then. This is what my aunt’s cousin told 
me about the death of the young Count Egon. 


CHAPTER XVI 


“ The Death of the First-born ” 

“ T WAS sitting one day in our little room at Vor- 
X lik nursing my month-old son,” my aunt’s 
cousin began, “ and I was thinking sadly what I 
would do to support not only myself and child but 
my old mother, now that my husband was dead. 
He had been a mason, and was killed by falling 
from a high scaffolding, and the few florins we had 
been able to save for a rainy day had all gone for 
the funeral. It was a dismal outlook, as there was 
not much work to be had, and even that was very 
badly paid; then it would soon be winter, too, and 
who would go into the forest and bring home 
fagots ? Sadly the tears trickled down and fell on 
the unconscious child tied up in his feather-bed, 
while the autumn sunshine shone brightly on the 
flowers in the window, and I could hear my old 
mother’s knitting-needles click as, sitting on our 
door-step in the sun, she knitted the coarse, white 
woollen stockings for the neighbors. 

“ But my meditations came to an abrupt end. 

218 


“ The Death of the First-born ” 


219 


Some one was talking with my mother, quickly, 
eagerly, and I could hear her say, ‘ Yes, yes, mer- 
ciful doctor. Surely you are right; she will be 
thankful.’ 

“ The door opened with a rattle, and the doctor 
from Vorlik came in, followed by my mother, all 
in a tremble. 

Maria,’ she said, ‘the merciful doctor has 
come all the way from Vorlik. He wishes you 
to go with him at once as nurse to the young 
count, who is a few days old. You will be well 
paid, Maria, and I will take good care of Jan. See 
how the Lord and the Blessed Virgin have pro- 
vided for us.’ 

“ I was so astonished at first I could say nothing, 
but hugged my child closer to my breast ; he was 
all I had, and I must leave him. 

“ Perhaps the doctor read my thoughts, for he 
had known me from a child. He said, very gently : 
‘ Yes, Maria, what your mother says is true. By 
going as nurse to the young count you can provide 
for your own child better than if you stayed at 
home. There is hardly any work to be had now, 
you know, and your mother, who brought up ten 
children of her own, will take good care of the lit- 
tle lad. Oh ! what a fine child he is. He would 
make two of the young count. Come ! be brave, 


220 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Maria. Dress yourself, my girl ; take a few of 
your best things in a bundle, and come as quickly 
as you can to the inn. My carriage is waiting 
there, and I will drive you at once to the castle.’ 

“He went away, and mechanically I dressed 
myself and made up my bundle. I was in the 
habit of obeying; it never entered my mind to 
resist. And what else could I do? My poor 
mother was greatly pleased. 

“ ‘ See,’ she said, ‘ what it is to stand well with 
the quality. Why, another girl would give her 
eyes to go as nurse to the young count. You will 
not only live in clover yourself, but you will be 
well paid. And then the presents ! Oh, yes, I 
will take good care of Jan, never fear ; and if the 
merciful lady allows it, I will bring him over to see 
you often. Only see, Maria, that you please the 
merciful lady. Be humble, be obedient; pray to 
the Virgin and the saints, and the Lord be with 
you.’ 

“ It is a five-mile drive to where the lordly castle 
of Vorlik stands frowning down upon the valley 
and the highroad that leads to Zoikoo. On the 
way the doctor told me that the child was puny 
and weak. He had doubted at first whether it 
would live. 

“‘I do not know how it will all turn out,’ he 


“ The Death of the First-born ” 


221 


said, shaking his head. ‘These aristocrats have 
no strength. What would not matter to another 
is death to them. Try and please the merciful 
lady in all things, Maria. Such noble ladies have 
their whims and notions; but one must put up 
with them, if one wishes to live in peace ; and 
then, if she takes a fancy to you, she will give you 
handsome presents. So be a good girl, and take 
good care of the young Count Egon/ 

“At the door of the castle the housekeeper 
came to meet us. ‘ Thank the Lord that you are 
here ! ’ she said. ‘ My lady is feverish, and the 
young Count Egon whimpers, do what we will. 
You look like a good, strong girl. Come, have 
some dinner while the doctor goes to my lady, and 
then you can take the young count/ 

“ I followed her to the kitchen, and ate such a 
dinner as we never had at home, even on the 
highest holidays; then they took me in to my 
lady. 

“ She was lying in a splendid bed. I can see it 
all before me even now : the white pillows with 
their deep embroidery, the dark blue, quilted satin 
coverlet, and the pale, young face, with the dark, 
burning eyes, that seemed to see one through and 
through. Her black hair had been braided in two 
long plaits, and lay on either side of her head. 


222 The Forestman of Vimpek 


But what struck me most was the look of pro- 
found sadness on the handsome young face. I 
had thought all merciful ladies were happy. 

“ The doctor was sitting by her bed, and a mid- 
dle-aged woman, whom I afterward found was the 
head nurse, was walking about with the young 
count. 

“ ‘ Merciful lady, this is the nurse, Maria. I 
think your ladyship will be pleased with her. She 
is perfectly healthy and strong, as you see,’ said 
the doctor, as I came up to the bed to kiss the 
merciful lady’s hand. 

“ She looked at me with those burning eyes of 
hers, and said : ‘Yes, she looks healthy. A widow, 
I believe. She is very young to be a widow.’ 

“ I took the young count in my arms. His 
feather-bed was trimmed with deep lace, and the 
bows of blue ribbon made him look very pretty ; 
but the little face inside the lace cap had a wiz- 
ened, yellow look, and the dark eyes seemed dim. 
I sat down on a chair, and put him to my breast. 
The merciful lady never took her eyes from us, 
and when the doctor left, she called me to her 
bedside, and said : ‘Now that my little son is 
quiet, tell me something of yourself. I am so 
tired of lying here.’ 

“ ‘ Merciful lady,’ I said, ‘ how willingly would 


“The Death of the First-born ” 


22 3 


1 tell you anything that might interest you. But 
what happens to the like of me ? ’ 

“ ‘ And what happens to us, do you think ? ’ she 
replied. ‘ Have you not lived and loved and mar- 
ried ? A poor man, no doubt, but still, you were 
once lovers. Have you not had a child and lost 
a husband ? Begin at the beginning, and tell me 
everything you can think of. I am so weary of 
lying here.’ 

“Her will was my law, and I told her as best I 
could, how I was one of a family of ten children ; 
how the oldest took care of the little ones till they 
went to service, some as geese-boys at six, some a 
little older as cow-boys, and the girls as nurses to 
peasant women who worked all day in the fields. 
I told her of my father’s death, and of my first 
communion, and how my white dress was made of 
an old petticoat that one of my sisters had received 
from a merciful lady. I told her of the long days 
in the dark forests, when I carried all our fagots 
on my back ; of the time when I was so lucky as 
to go to service not far from the ‘ Holy Mountain ’ 
in Pribram, where the Blessed Virgin had appeared, 
and how my merciful lady had allowed me once to 
go and see all these wonders. How, with my own 
eyes, I had seen the silver hearts, legs, and hands 
of those who had been cured. I told her of my 


224 The Forestman of Vimpek 


courtship, of our marriage, the birth of my little 
child, and how, when the baby was a week old, 
they had brought home my husband’s lifeless 
body. I described my old mother, who could do 
nothing to earn her bread but knit stockings and 
take care of babies for the peasants. I told her 
everything I could think of, while she looked at 
me with those dark, sad eyes, but said nothing. 

“At length the chambermaid came, with the 
merciful lady’s tea on a tray; then the other 
nurse took the little count, and I went down to 
the kitchen for my supper. 

“The housekeeper, a chatty, elderly woman, 
asked how my lady and the young count were, 
and when I told her that I thought my lady 
looked too pale and sad, and that the little count 
whimpered much more than my boy, do what I 
would, she said : ‘ We are all afraid my lady will 
not live. Even the doctor has his doubts, good 
man ; he told me as much to-day, as he drove 
away. Too much weakness, he said. But as to 
the little boy, such whimpering children often out- 
live healthy ones. Your boy is only a peasant 
bumpkin ; but this is a young count ; he must be 
pampered from his cradle.’ 

“I finished my supper, and went back to my 
lady’s room to nurse the young count. ‘Maria,’ 


“ The Death of the First-born ” 


225 


said the chambermaid, opening a door that opened 
in my lady’s room, ‘ this is the nursery. In the 
daytime you can be with my lady if she wishes; 
but at night you must sleep here, as the doctor has 
ordered that she must be quiet.’ 

“Annie the chambermaid lit the wax night- 
light, and I saw that it was rather a large room 
that she had led me to ; it had probably been a 
dressing room before the young count was born. 
The iron bed, such as servants sleep in, stood in 
one corner, and beside it was a beautiful cradle 
with blue satin curtains ; on a bracket above it 
was a silver crucifix. 

“ ‘ The young count is always to sleep in the 
cradle,’ said Annie ; ‘ no matter what happens you 
are never to take him in your bed to sleep. The 
merciful count was most explicit ; he said dozens 
of children were crushed and smothered to death 
every year by their mothers and nurses rolling 
upon them. It might cost you your situation if 
any one saw him in your bed.’ 

“ ‘ And where do you sleep, Annie ? ’ I asked, a 
vague fear coming over me, that perhaps I might 
fall asleep and let the young count cry. 

“ ‘Just now, while my lady is ill, I sleep on the 
sofa in her room,’ she said; ‘but, as a general thing, 
I sleep in the housekeeper’s chamber.’ 

Q 


22 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“‘If the young count should cry, and I do 
not hear him, you will wake me, will you not, 
Annie ? * 

“ ‘ My dear,’ said Annie, ‘ put the idea of sleep- 
ing out of your head, for he whimpers all night. 
Be thankful if he lets you sleep for half an hour at 
a time.’ 

“ ‘ Ah, me ! ’ I thought, ‘ how will I manage to 
keep awake ? ’ and I sat down sadly on a low stool, 
with the young count on my lap. How long I sat 
there I do not know ; but I awoke suddenly to hear 
my lady call, ‘ Annie ! Annie ! ’ 

“I opened the door that led to her room, and 
said, ‘ Merciful lady, is there anything I can do for 
you ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes/ she said, ‘ give me a drink. Annie sleeps 
so soundly I cannot wake her.’ 

“ I poured some water into a glass, and, putting 
my arms under the pillows, raised her head so that 
she could drink. Her face was flushed, and her 
eyes seemed on fire. ‘Where is my son?’ she 
asked. 

“‘He is in the next room, my lady. Shall I 
bring him to you ? ’ 

“‘Yes/ she said, ‘bring him/ 

“ I brought the little count to her bedside, and 
held him so that she might kiss the little, wizened 


“The Death of the First-born ” 


127 


face. She looked a long time at him. ‘ Will he 
live, do you think ? ’ she asked suddenly. 

“ ‘ Why should he not live, my lady ? ’ I said. 
‘ The Blessed Virgin protect him ! ’ and I made 
the sign of the cross over his face. 

“ ‘ If I am going to die, and I feel somehow that 
I am going to die,’ she said wildly, ‘ better that he 
should go with me. I, too, was an orphan ; I know 
how it is. Better to die with me than to be worried 
to death by a stepmother, as I was worried. Ah, 
better, much better, that he should go with me ! ’ 

“ ‘ My lady,’ I said, horrified, ‘ why talk of dying ? 
In a few days you will be better — quite well again.’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps, perhaps,’ she said wearily. ‘ But go 
to bed now, Maria. See, Annie is snoring. Oh ! 
how I wish I could sleep ! ’ 

“ Next day the doctor shook his head, and waited 
to speak to the count before he went home. Then 
two Sisters of Charity came from Prague to attend 
to my lady, and there was a strange stillness 
throughout the house. My master, the count, a 
handsome young man of about twenty-six, often 
came and sat for hours by my lady, his hand in 
hers. For the most part she seemed sleeping, but 
every now and then she would ask for her son, so 
that I sat most of the time not far from the bed. 
At night, fever came, and she would call wildly, 


228 The Forestman of Vimpek 


‘ If I must die, O Lord, let the child go with me ! ’ 
It lasted a week ; then my lady fell asleep and 
never awoke again in this world. 

“On the last night before the funeral, I had 
just been down in the great hall, where my lady 
lay in state. The magnificent coffin rested on a 
black, velvet-draped bier in the middle of the 
room ; a gold crucifix stood at the head, and 
silver candle-sticks with wax candles were burn- 
ing all around her. She was dressed in her wed- 
ding gown of white satin with the myrtle wreath 
in her hair. Very beautiful she looked and peace- 
ful, much more peaceful than I had ever seen her 
look in her life. The count knelt on her right 
with the pfarrer and caplan on either side, the 
Sisters of Charity on the left; and in the back- 
ground were the servants and most of the peasants, 
all responding to the litany for the dead that the 
pfarrer was reciting. I also knelt and prayed for 
the good of my lady’s soul, and then went up to 
nurse my little count. It seemed to me that he, 
too, had grown more quiet — poor little motherless 
fellow — and that he whimpered less. 

“ I was sitting on the same low stool where I 
had sat the first night I came to the castle ; the 
young count lay on my lap, the wax night-light 
was burning on the table beside me. The little 


“The Death of the First-born ” 


229 


count was asleep, and I suppose I must have been 
dozing, when suddenly I awoke. Why I awoke I 
do not know ; a strange feeling of fear came over 
me. Stupidly I stared at the closed door that led 
to my lady’s room, expecting, expecting — what? 

“To my horrified gaze the door swung open, 
and my lady came in. I knew it was my lady, 
though the face that looked at me now was quite 
different from the one I had known — the one that 
lay on the white satin pillow below. She was 
dressed in something gray; I do not know what 
it was, for I could not keep my eyes from her face 
— the pale, young face with the dark, sad eyes, as 
on earth ; but with such a different look, and yet 
not quite a happy look, not such an expression as 
one would suppose a glorified spirit to have. She 
crossed the room and stood beside me, looking 
sadly at her child. Then, all at once, she disap- 
peared, and I was alone. Cold sweat was stand- 
ing on my forehead ; I shivered with fear ! What 
had I seen? 

“ How long I sat there, I do not know. At 
length Annie came up. She had been crying till 
her eyes were swollen and red, for my lady had 
been a kind mistress and was greatly beloved. I 
told Annie what I had seen, but she wearily said : 
‘ It was only a dream, Maria. Leave the little 


230 The Forestman of Vimpek 


count with me and go down and get your sup- 
per. Ah, you poor lamb ! ’ and she began to cry 
again. 

“ I went downstairs. I knew it had been no 
dream, and my knees quaked under me as I en- 
tered the housekeeper’s room. ‘ What is the mat- 
ter ? ’ she said ; ‘you are white as a sheet.’ 

“ I told her what I had seen, but she, too, said, 

* Oh, child, it was only a dream. Still, I have heard 
one should touch the dead or they will haunt one. 
When you have finished your supper, we will go 
and look at my lady once more ; and do you touch 
her.’ 

“I could not eat, but I pretended I had, and 
together we went into the hall. The count, the 
pfarrer, and caplan, with the two sisters, were still 
praying, but the others had retired. I went up 
and stood close to the coffin, and gazed earnestly 
at the still features. They were the same that I 
had seen, and yet they were not the same. 

“ ‘ The Lord and the Blessed Virgin give you 
peace,’ I prayed, and stooped and kissed one of 
the folded white hands that held the rosary, half 
hidden in flowers. The housekeeper crossed her-* 
self, and we departed. 

***** 

“ Next day I saw the long train leave the castle. 


“The Death of the First-born ” 


231 


I watched them through the park and winding 
down the highway. 

“ Was it a dream, I asked myself ? Had I really 
seen my lady ? Or was it a dreadful nightmare ? 
Ah well! they all told me it was. I was begin- 
ning to believe it myself ; perhaps it was. That 
night I slept in peace. Maybe it was because 
Annie slept with me. The count told her some 
one must sleep with me, so that if I slept too hard 
and the child cried they could wake me. The 
merciful count came every day, and twice a day, 
to look at the young count. He was a very hand- 
some young man, and wealthy; all the servants 
said he would not be a widower long. Ah, me ! 
Perhaps my poor lady was right. Who knows 
what kind of a stepmother her poor child might 
get?” 

***** 

My aunt’s cousin paused a moment ; she covered 
her eyes with her hands, and then she went on 
with her story : — 

“ Oh, it was terrible ! Oh, it was horrible ! ” 
she said, “but ‘I saw my lady again. Not once, 
but three nights running. I began to fear that I 
should go mad. She would come and look at her 
son, every night. Sometimes she would stand by 
his cradle, sometimes by my side, if I was holding 


2j2 The Forestman of Vimpek 


him. She would never speak, but would look at 
him awhile and then vanish. 

“And the worst part of it was that no one 
would believe me. When I told the housekeeper, 
she bade me hold my tongue or people would say 
I was mad ; or, worse, I would lose my situation. 
Annie slept and saw nothing; when I would tell 
her, she would only laugh at me. She told me I 
ought to speak to my lady and ask her what she 
wished ; but I was always so horrified that I could 
not speak. 

“ At last I felt that I could stand this no longer. 
When my hour came for walking in the park, I 
decided that I would go to the pfarrer and take 
some money with me, and have masses said for 
the good of my lady’s soul. Perhaps, then, she 
would cease to haunt me, I thought. 

***** 

“ When I came to his reverence he was sitting 
in his library. ‘Why, Maria, is it you?’ he said. 
‘ And how is it with the young count ? ’ 

“‘He is as usual, your reverence,’ I answered; 
‘and here are the silver florins for three masses 
for my lady’s soul.’ 

“I put the money on the table with a sigh. 
How many things I could have bought with 
them! Perhaps the pfarrer read my thoughts, 


“ The Death of the First-born ” 


233 

for he asked, ‘Who wishes the masses read, 
Maria ? * 

“ ‘ I do, your reverence,’ I said. 

“ * And why ? ’ he asked. ‘ Why ? ’ he repeated. 

“ I stood quaking before him. ‘ Your reverence,’ 
I said, ‘ my lady haunts me,’ and I burst into tears. 

“ I do not know how it was, but I told the pfarrer 
everything ; I said I believed that my lady wished 
and, perhaps, would take her son with her. He 
was an old man, and his eyes never left my face 
until I had finished; then there was a silence of 
some minutes before he spoke. 

‘“If I had not baptized, confirmed, and married 
you, Maria, I would say either that you were lying 
or had been troubled by some hallucination. As 
it is, child, you are not well, perhaps, and have 
imagined all this.’ 

“ ‘ Reverend father, by the Holy Virgin ! by the 
blessed crucifix ! I am speaking the truth,’ I said. 

“ ‘ You believe you are speaking the truth, I am 
sure, Maria,’ replied he, ‘ but, my child, why should 
the merciful lady come back ? She died in her 
youth, innocent, unpolluted by the world. What 
sins could a girl of nineteen have? Then, she 
confessed before she died, she received all the 
sacraments of the church. Oh, no, it cannot be ! 
She is with the Blessed Virgin. All who die in 


234 The Forestman of Vimpek 


childbirth go to the bosom of the Blessed Mother, 
you know. She is happy in heaven.’ 

“ ‘ Reverend father, she was all that you say, 
and much more,’ I admitted. ‘I have heard of 
her goodness and her charity ; but, all the same, 
she died with but one thought, and that was to 
take her child with her. You shall see, reverend 
father; the little Count Egon will not live long. 
I saw her as distinctly as I see you now. In 
heaven, or wherever she may be, she has but one 
desire, and that is to have her child. Please, your 
reverence, read the masses for her soul ; perhaps 
then she may find peace.’ 

“ The pfarrer had been walking up and down 
the room with his hands behind his back ; at last 
he took up the three florins and handed them back. 
‘ Take them,’ he said. ‘ I will read, not three, but 
many masses for the countess’s soul; and you, 
Maria, do you also pray.’ 

“ ‘ My father,’ I said, ‘ I cannot take back the 
money. I vowed it to a holy purpose. If your 
reverence will not take it, let it be given to the 
poor.’ 

“ ‘ Put it into the poor-box, Maria — the box in 
the church. To-morrow or after to-morrow, I 
will see you at the castle. Till then, good-by, 
and pray, pray to the Virgin to deliver you from 


“ The Death of the First-born ” 


2 35 


such visions ; for, of course, it is only a vision, 
Maria.’ 

“ I did as the pfarrer told me. I prayed and 
prayed, either that my lady’s soul might find rest, 
or that I might be delivered from these visions ; 
but even while .1 counted my rosary with the 
young count on my lap, my lady entered. No, 
this could be no vision ; she stood so close that I 
could have touched her with my hand. 

* * * * * 

“Next day, when my lord, the merciful count, 
came into the nursery, he looked strangely at me 
and said : ‘ What is this nonsense that I hear, 
Maria ? You believe you have seen my lady ? ’ 

“ I did not know what to answer ; I stood stu- 
pidly by my little count’s cradle, who did not 
whimper any more, but only slept, slept, all 
the time, so that he would hardly drink ; slept 
with his little dark eyes open. I was sure my 
lord had come to discharge me. What should I 
say ? 

“ ‘Tell me,’ he said again. ‘ Do you really 
believe you saw her? Tell me all about it, Maria. 
Of course, it was a dream.’ 

“I told him, brokenly, no doubt; for I was 
crying. ‘My lord,’ I said, ‘it was no dream; it 
was no vision. I saw my lady.’ 


236 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ The count was very quiet ; he did not laugh 
at me, as the servants had. He was not even 
stern, as the pfarrer had been. He only said, 
‘ His reverence and I will watch with you to-night, 
and if there is anything to see, we will see it, and 
if not — well, no harm will have been done.’ 

“The evening came, and I sat on my stool as 
usual, with the young count on my lap. My lord 
and his reverence sat some little way behind me, 
by a small table where two wax candles were 
burning, so that the room was well lighted. The 
count had insisted upon leaving open the door 
leading from my room to my lady’s chamber, so 
that we could see the bed she had died upon, and 
the door that led into her sitting room. Since 
her death the doors had always been closed. 

“We sat a long time. I think I must have 
dozed a little ; then, of a sudden, I began to feel 
that strange feeling of horror which heralded my 
lady’s coming. I turned my head to the merciful 
gentlemen, but something in the pfarrer’s face 
told me he also felt the spell. Hardly had I 
turned my eyes toward the darkened room where 
my lady had died, and which was now flooded 
with moonlight, when I saw the door that opened 
into her sitting room swing open, and she entered. 
My lady did not hurry ; calmly, slowly, she crossed 


“The Death of the First-born ” 


2 37 


the large room, and entered mine. She was not 
in gray this time, but in something white and shin- 
ing like satin. I had never before seen her look 
so beautiful and happy. She stood a moment by 
me, not seeming to notice the count or the pfarrer, 
and then to my horror she stretched out both her 
hands as though to take her son out of my arms. 
Horrified, I clasped the child to my breast, and in 
the same moment heard the count call out ‘ Louisa ! ’ 
and I saw him clasp the empty air, where my 
lady had stood. The next moment he fell sense- 
less, with his face to the floor. 

“I could not move. I saw the pfarrer, with a 
white face, dash cold water over the count’s head, 
till he recovered. After a while I got up, and 
pulled the pfarrer a little aside. ‘The child is 
dead,’ I whispered, ‘his mother has taken him.’ 
The pfarrer said nothing. He crossed himself 
and the child, took him out of my arms, and laid 
him softly upon his little feather-bed on the table, 
and putting the silver crucifix at his head and the 
wax candles around, he knelt and began to pray 
silently. 

“ The count, who had been sitting like one dazed, 
watched all this stupidly ; then he arose, went to 
the table, and looked down at the little face that 
was so like his wife’s. The muscles of his face 


238 The Forestman of Vimpek 


twitched dreadfully, and he burst out into hys- 
terical sobbing. 

“ ‘ My lord,’ said the pfarrer, leading him to a 
chair, ‘your son is an angel. The Lord gave and 
the Lord has taken; blessed be the name of the 
Lord.’ It was useless to try to comfort the weep- 
ing father, and his reverence returned to his 
praying. I also knelt and told my rosary till the 
dull autumn day began to dawn. Then I arose, 
and said to his reverence, ‘I am of no use now; 
I will go home to my mother.’ 

“ Like a hunted creature, I ran until I entered 
the little room I had left, it seemed to me, an 
eternity ago. My mother was up making the 
soup, but little Jan lay in his cradle asleep. I 
cannot remember now what I said; I had only 
one desire, to lay my aching head on my pillow, 
which I did, and never lifted it again till weeks 
and weeks after, for I had brain fever, they told 
me. 

“The merciful count, I heard, was also taken 
very ill the same day, and for years after he 
travelled in foreign lands. When he married 
some seven years later, he did not come to live 
at the old castle of his ancestors, but in the new 
castle near Prague. My mother told me the count 
had been very generous : he had put a sum of 


“The Death of the First-born ” 


2 39 


money for me in the bank, and had paid all the 
expenses of my illness. 

“ Only once I asked the pfarrer a question ; but 
he turned deadly pale, and putting his finger to 
his lips said, ‘All that passed that terrible night, 
Maria, must remain a secret forever.’ 

“Now that my lord lives far away,” my aunt’s 
cousin said, as she completed the tale, “and now 
that the pfarrer of our village is dead, I feel no 
scruple in telling the story. It was the first and 
last ghost I ever saw, and I pray God neither I 
nor any one else may see another.” 

“ There, now ! ” said my aunt, turning to me 
triumphantly, but in an awesome voice, “ what 
do you say to that?” 

What could I say? What would you? 


CHAPTER XVII 


A Theatrical Performance 

I T was well for those of us who had made their 
arrangements for that winter of which I have 
told you, for it came upon us most suddenly. 
There were blinding snow-storms, when we could 
see but a few feet beyond the windows, and when 
we were forced to shovel the snow from the doors 
and make paths to the woodpile. We have all 
kinds of snow in our part of the world; great 
watery flakes that are like hailstones, and the very 
fine white snow, like flour, that is more dreaded 
by us than any other. When this snow falls for 
days, as it sometimes does, we know there is 
trouble ahead. 

And rumors of trouble soon came to our ears. 
The gendarmes, wet through and half frozen, told 
us that this way or that was impassable. Then we 
heard from the letter-carriers that communication 
had ceased between our village and the others. 
And lastly, even the hunters and forestmen sat 
at home and cleaned their guns or sharpened 
240 


A Theatrical Performance 


241 


their tools. It was impossible to penetrate into 
the forest, and the snow kept falling, falling. 

We had not seen the sun for weeks. Nothing 
but leaden clouds or white, blinding snow; and 
many of the branches of the trees were broken 
with its weight, or so bowed down that they 
nearly reached the earth. This was in our village ; 
but what of the unfortunate ones farther up in the 
mountains, or imprisoned in scattered huts and cot- 
tages ? Soon we heard that if help did not come, 
the people beyond us, nearer to the Bohemian 
boundary, would be starved, as they could not get 
to the mills to have their grain ground, and even if 
they had succeeded in getting there, the millers 
could not grind their corn because the water was 
frozen. Everybody turns out on such occasions, 
and the strongest and bravest start out in rescue 
parties, with provisions in baskets strapped on their 
backs, or, if possible, leading a horse with a sack 
of flour. Sometimes things get so bad that even 
the government has to take matters in hand, or the 
people would be starved. The winter that broke 
over our heads was one of unusual severity, and 
every one suffered ; even the birds fell down, 
starved and frozen, and the streams and rivers, 
that generally were not frozen, were one mass of 
ice. 

R 


242 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Almost all Bohemians in our part of the world 
have two trades, at least. So, when such a winter 
comes, they sit at home and make wooden rakes 
for the haying, brooms out of twigs, willow bas- 
kets, such as the Bohemian women almost always 
have on their backs, and in which they carry every- 
thing imaginable, from a child to a load of grass 
or wood. Different villages make different arti- 
cles. Some are renowned for one thing, some for 
another. Our village manufactured principally the 
“ nejschle,” or wooden shoes, of which I told you, 
and, which, as you know, are not to be confused with 
the wooden shoe of other nations. The Bohemian 
“nejschle” has only the bottom made of wood; 
the top is made of leather, tacked on to the bottom 
with small nails, and without a heel. It requires 
practice to walk in such a shoe, and I have read, 
though I do not believe it, that one can always 
recognize who has worn them in their youth, by 
the peculiar way they walk. Farther up in the 
mountains they make wooden toys and boxes, or 
carve crucifixes and clocks, while the women, 
everywhere, knit the coarse woollen stockings that 
are for sale in every town. 

Having stuffed everything I had on hand, and 
having grown tired of the enforced idleness one 
day, when the snow liad stopped falling for a little 


A Theatrical Performance 243 


while and I had seen some forestmen going by 
us to the village, I said to my aunt that the way 
was broken a little and I thought I would go to 
the village. 

“ Well,” said my aunt, “ I will go with you. I 
want to see the pfarrer’s housekeeper about some 
knitting, and I must buy sugar and other things. 
It may begin to snow again to-morrow.” 

I put on my fur cap, and my aunt enveloped 
her head in an enormous woollen hood ; then, lock- 
ing the door of our cottage, we departed, to enjoy 
the society of the village. After much ploughing 
through the new-fallen snow and much slipping 
on the frozen ice beneath it, we reached the vil- 
lage, and shaking the snow from our clothes, set 
out to the pfarrer’s. There was not a living jjoul 
to be seen as we tramped along, but turning a 
corner suddenly, we beheld before the Bohemian 
Lion a perfect skeleton of a horse, dragging an 
old covered wagon much the worse for wear. 

“ We are in luck,” said my aunt. “ See, there 
are the komediants ( the strolling players ) ; there 
will be a comedy this evening.” 

Sure enough, a boy came out of the Bohemian 
Lion, unharnessed the skeleton of a beast, and 
led him away. Then the man and the woman, 
each taking a drum from the cart, began to drum 


244 The Forestman of Vimpek 


with might and main. The man had the small 
drum and walked ahead, the drumsticks keeping 
up a continual “ r-r-r, r-r-r” ; the woman followed, 
pounding at intervals on the big drum ; both had 
the drums tied round their necks with a string. 
They marched in this way a few steps ; then every 
little while they would stop, and the man would 
shout at the top of his voice to the audience, who 
had collected at the first tap of the drum. 

“ I invite the high-born nobility, the landed gen- 
try, the inhabitants of this village,” he said, “ to see 
an artistic rendering of the celebrated drama, 
‘The Courtship of the High-born Lady Kunhuta.’ 
Reserved seats cost five kreuzers, general admis- 
sion seats cost two kreuzers ; and I wish to draw 
the attention of the public to the fact that I have 
had the honor to play in imperial cities, and before 
the nobility all over the world, to every one’s satis- 
faction and admiration ; and that my performance 
is not to be mentioned in the same breath with 
that of other strolling players, being marked by 
great splendor of decoration and finished work- 
manship. The performance will begin at six 
o’clock.” 

We heard all this with our ears, but a stranger 
might possibly have thought we heard with our 
mouths; for they were all open, what with the 


A Theatrical Performance 


245 


exertion of struggling through the snow and the 
pleasure and amazement of the treat before us. 
The man again began his “r-r-r, r-r-r,” and the 
woman her pounding, while the boys and girls 
and many of the villagers followed them about 
until they retired into the Bohemian Lion. 

I had a variety of things to attend to, so I left 
my aunt at the pfarrer’s, and went about my busi- 
ness promising to return in time to take my aunt 
to see the entertainment. I bought a few things 
that my aunt wanted at the store where we always 
dealt. It was not Hynek’s, but was kept by Matej, 
a cousin of the miller’s. Then I wended my way 
to Jiri the smith, where I knew I would find every- 
body and hear the latest news as to which roads 
were passable, which impassable, and all the gossip 
of the village. 

Jiri was making large nails as I entered, and 
when he had done hammering, he put the iron 
bar on the fire again, and turning round to the 
loungers said: “Yesterday Hynek and his widow 
had a lively time. The widow, she threw a brown 
jug at Hynek’s head, and he made for her with 
his carpenter’s rule. Then they went at it, tooth 
and nail. And if I had not heard the row, and 
rushed in upon them, who knows what they would 
have done to one another.” 


246 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“You see, Jiri,” said one of the loungers, “the 
widow has had experience with her first husband, 
and now she wanted to come it over Hynek.” 

“A waste of time,” said another; “ Hynek’s a 
devil at fighting. He looks thin, and all that; 
but he is tough. The widow will have a nice 
time with him, I am thinking, if she doesn’t dance 
to his music.” 

“Well, as far as I saw,” said Jiri, “Hynek had 
a nice cut on his head, and the blood running 
down his face did not improve his appearance. 
I had a pair of boots in my hand, as I was going 
to Prokop to get them mended, and I banged 
them both well with them. For married people 
to be fighting within the honeymoon ! Who ever 
heard of such a thing ! ” 

“Just think of it, Basilius wanted to match 
Prokop and the widow,” said another. 

“Well, that’s his business,” remarked the smith, 
taking out the iron and beating it till the sparks 
flew all around. 

“A more serious thing,” said another, “is that 
we shall soon be having a new teacher. I tell you 
Jan Marie is fading away before our eyes. If he 
lives till spring we may be thankful,” 

“Yes,” said the ‘smith, sticking the glowing iron 
in a pail of water, where it frizzled and hissed. 


A Theatrical Performance 


247 


“ I did not like it when I heard he had been 
called, come a year next All Souls Day. I said 
to my wife then, you will see, Alzbeta, the teacher 
will not outlive that three years ; nobody ever 
does. When one is called three times, whether 
one answers or not, one is doomed ; and then the 
kujcek (the deathbird) sang on the schoolhouse 
roof. The matter is hopeless. It is the will of 
God that he should go from among us. And it’s 
a pity, for Jan Marie is a good man, and patient 
with the little ones.” 

I had not seen Jan Marie for quite a long time, 
and I was sorrowstricken to hear all this ; true, he 
had not been looking well all last summer, but I 
had not thought much about it before. I must 
persuade him to go and see a doctor, I thought to 
myself; though I knew that Jan Marie did not 
think much of doctors. While I was pondering 
the matter, Bedrich Dumek and his two cousins 
came in. They had heard the drumming where 
they were skating on the miller’s pond, and had 
come to the village to see the drama. 

“ We are going to dress up like St. Nicholas,” 
said Bedrich to me, “and I am going to be the 
angel because I am the smallest. It will be a lot 
of work making all the things necessary; but 
then, how amusing it will be.” 


248 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“It is a good old Bohemian custom,” I said, 
“and far more amusing, to my mind, than the 
German Christmas tree. You will make a beauti- 
ful angel, Bedrich, because you are kind-hearted.” 

So we talked together a little while till, all at once, 
we heard the “r-r-r, r-r-r” of the little drum, and 
the “ bang-bang ” of the big drum ; but this time 
they were before the Bohemian Lion, and we 
knew the performance would soon begin. I went 
for my aunt ; but the pfarrer’s housekeeper took 
some little time to get ready and hide the house 
key in the accustomed place beneath a large stone, 
where the pfarrer could get it if he returned home ; 
so we were a little late, and almost all the village 
was collected in the house. We knew this by the 
number of nejschles in the passage. I have heard 
people wonder how we ever knew one pair of 
wooden shoes from another, and I always have 
to assure them that every one’s nejschles has its 
own individuality, just the same as other articles 
of clothing. It is the fashion in our part of the 
world to leave one’s nejschles outside the door, 
and to attend a performance in one’s stocking feet. 
The stockings are drawn up over the trousers to 
prevent the cold getting in. 

Josef the innkeeper was doing a splendid busi- 
ness in the way o,f selling small cheeses and other 


A Theatrical Performance 


24.9 


delicacies, and glasses of beer. When you go to 
such an entertainment you must let people see 
that you have money. In one corner of the room 
the company had arranged their stage. It was 
now hidden by a dingy red curtain ; but before it 
were set in a row all the chairs that the Bohemian 
Lion possessed. The wife of the komediant was 
going about with a tin plate collecting the price of 
admission, and I took a reserved chair for my 
aunt and myself. As there was still a little time 
before the performance began, I looked about me. 
Seated at one table, I saw Hynek and his widow 
eating salted herrings together ; and if it had not 
been for a long strip of court-plaster that ran up 
to his hair, I would have thought Jiri had dreamed 
the whole affair of the fight. Even as I drew 
near them he was offering her a tender bit of his 
herring, and calling her his “sugar candy,” while 
she beamed upon him like the full moon. 

A rap on the drum directed us to be seated, and 
no nobility being at hand, we went to sit with the 
landed gentry (having paid five kreuzers for our 
chairs). This consisted of the Dumek lads, Jan 
Marie and his wife, the pfarrer’s housekeeper, 
my aunt, and myself. When we were all seated, 
there remained among the reserved seats only one 
vacant place; this was for the pfarrer; the rest 


250 The Forestman of Vimpck 


of the world had to behold the spectacle on their 
legs. 

No more people coming in, the komediants set 
about their performance. The introduction was 
an overture, played by the komediant’s wife on 
a wheezy, squeaky barrel-organ ; it was accom- 
panied by the little drum, played by a tow-headed 
youth of fourteen, and by cymbals, clashed together 
at intervals by a damsel of perhaps eleven, in a 
very short frock. Bohemians are among the most 
musical people on earth, and our village has one 
of the finest bands around, so I must confess that 
this overture was listened to in disdainful silence. 
The pfarrer, having come home meanwhile and 
found the key, with the written message as to our 
whereabouts, came to join us, and took his seat 
with great dignity. 

The curtain rolled up (it was drawn with a jerk) 
and displayed what the komediant told us, from 
behind the curtain, in a gruff voice, was the castle 
court. If we had . not been informed beforehand 
we would never on earth have known what it was, 
for, to all appearances, it was a wooden box. 

In this wooden box or courtyard, a wooden man- 
ikin, about a foot and a half high, dressed in 
dingy apparel and faded gold braid, was promenad- 
ing with the peculiar strut known to wooden man- 


A Theatrical Performance 


251 


ikins. The gruff voice announced to us that this 
was the lord of the manor, and that he had just 
lost his wife, the Lady Emiliana. I supposed at 
first, from the way he waved his arms about, that 
the lord of the manor was supposed to be tearing 
his hair out by the handfuls with grief ; but he 
began a soliloquy, in which it seemed that, instead 
of bewailing his wife, the shameful old man was 
plotting how he could persuade the Lady Kunhuta, 
the adopted daughter of his wife, who was madly 
in love with his son, to marry him. After strutting 
about a long time, and talking of his love affajr, 
— never of his dear wife, who, it seemed, was not 
even yet buried, but lay in state somewhere, we 
could not exactly make out where, — a second 
figure slid in, and began hopping toward the lord 
of the manor. This person, in a feathered cap 
and faded uniform, we were told was the merciful 
young Count Svatopluk. He hopped about the 
lord of the manor in a way that I suppose was 
meant to be youthful. Then, in a squeaky voice, 
he, also, began a soliloquy about his love affairs, 
and then asked the old count, in a very high-flown 
way, for permission to marry the Lady Kunhuta. 
This the old count utterly refused to do, saying, 
with many gesticulations, that he would marry her 
himself. Thereupon, the young count, also with 


252 The Forestman of Vimpek 


many gesticulations, vowed revenge upon his 
unnatural parent, and the curtain was drawn 
before the stage. 

In the next act we were, I suppose, in the family 
vault (still the wooden box) where, on a splendid 
bier (a block of wood) lay the Lady Emiliana in 
her grave-clothes. Her son and daughter, more 
dutiful and loving than her husband, were talking 
above her body about their love affairs. The Lady 
Kunhuta had been described to us as a Venus of 
beauty and a paragon of virtue, but in reality she 
was a still smaller manikin, in a faded red gown, 
blue jacket, and yellow apron. They both strutted 
about in a way which I presumed was meant to be 
loving, and they waved their arms about, paying no 
attention to the dear departed lying on the bier, and 
who was now slowly getting up, if a wooden mani- 
kin, worked by wires and strings, can get up slowly. 
The countess, who, for some unknown reason, had 
only been pretending to be dead, and had over- 
heard all the love affairs of her son and daughter, 
then solemnly blessed them, and declared them duti- 
ful children (for visiting her tomb and talking love 
affairs over her bier, I suppose). She told them 
to take her advice and all would go well with them. 
The advice was that the Lady Kunhuta should go 
back to the old count and say that she was willing 


A Theatrical Performance 


253 


to give up the son and marry him, if he would set- 
tle all his money upon her before the wedding took 
place. The old count loved his money, but he 
loved the beautiful Lady Kunhuta still more, so 
he consented, and they went off together. Be- 
tween all this the curtain had been skilfully drawn 
a little, so as to divide the wooden box in two parts, 
and made it again the courtyard. The old count 
called his faithful servitor, Borivoj, in a loud voice, 
and when Borivoj arrived, in a long blue coat and 
cocked hat, the count ordered him to go to the 
next town and bring a public notary and writer. 
Off went Borivoj and arrived at last, and in a p 
incredibly short time, with the two gentlemen, in 
rusty black gowns. Neither of these gentlemen 
nor the servitor Borivoj seemed at all astonished 
that the old count wished to marry the Lady Kun- 
huta even before his late wife was buried. The 
papers were drawn up in the air, and signed (no 
one knows why) with the state seal. When every- 
thing was done, the wife of the old count entered 
on the arm of her son (they both dangled in the 
air), and laughed the old count to scorn because 
he had made a beggar of himself. The old count 
was so astonished at all this (as well he might be) 
that he fell in a fit. The end was apparently a 
triumphal dance ; the notary and his writer, both 


254 The Forestman of Vimpek 


with enormous books under their arms, danced 
together, and the rest hopped about like all pos- 
sessed. The curtain fell with a rattle, and the 
performance was finished. The komediant’s wife 
began turning the barrel-organ, and another over- 
ture with drum and cymbals was begun. 

The pfarrer was going to have a game of cards 
with Jan Marie and other congenial souls, while 
the youth prepared for an impromptu dance ; so, 
bidding them farewell, I lighted my lantern and 
we took our departure. As we climbed up the 
path that overlooked the village, I saw a light in 
Prokop’s window. As he was not at the Komedie, 
he doubtless was reading philosophy by the light 
of his dim lamp. 

“Wefl,” said my aunt, who was trudging in the 
snow behind me, trying to put her feet in my foot- 
steps, “ it was a delightful evening, but I am glad 
we are home again.” 

We soon had a bright fire burning; my aunt 
made coffee to warm us, and we discussed the 
performance and our neighbors, with great frank- 
ness, until we went to bed. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Revelations 


HE cold was intense; a biting wind came 



from the north, and as we had “accord 


work,” that is, were paid not by the day, but by 
the cord, we had all determined to go home earlier 
than usual, for the wind was rising, and we feared 
a bad night. 

As we followed one another along the narrow 
path through the snow, and tried to turn our heads 
away from the bitter wind, we met the pfarrer. 
The good man was bareheaded, for his velvet cap 
could not stand such a wind, and he was, we saw, 
carrying the sacrament to some dying person. 
The church servant, who walked ahead of the 
pfarrer, held the wooden crucifix before him, and 
his lantern, still unlighted, hung about his neck. 
With both hands the pfarrer bore the sacrament 
monstrance, and his somewhat stern face was 
pale. He did not even look at us; his gaze was 
riveted on what he held. 

We all stepped out of the path, and with bowed 


2 56 The Forestman of Vimpek 


heads knelt in the snow while he passed with the 
sacrament. The wind howled in the branches 
above us, and the snow cracked beneath their feet 
as they passed us. When we had crossed our- 
selves and risen to our feet, they were already out 
of sight, lost behind a turning in the path. 

“ The pfarrer is a good man,” one of the forest- 
men said. “ He is going to Auton Vanek, who 
was hurt by a falling tree as he went home from 
his work. They say he will not recover.” 

“ It is not every priest who would face this 
weather, even for a dying man,” said another, as 
we plodded on. The icy wind was rising every 
moment, and cut our faces like a knife. When 
we reached home I found that my aunt was 
already in a state of mind. 

“Thank heaven you are here,” she said; “it 
will be an awful night.” 

I told her we had just passed the pfarrer, and 
she replied, “Is he mad to go out on such a 
night ? ” 

“No,” I said, “he is not mad; he is doing his 
duty.” My aunt did not answer, but went and 
lighted the light before the crucifix. 

My house is strongly built, but it seemed as 
though every blast would carry us away, as I went 
out and brought in wood enough to last over the 


Revelations 


257 


night. The storm might rage a long time, or, it 
might be, only through the night; there was no 
knowing. 

“ Look out of the window,” said my aunt; “you 
will see the lighted lantern going by. Call them 
in ; the pfarrer will never be able to get home to 
the village. I will make coffee and arrange the 
spare bed ; he can stay here over the night.” 

It seemed a wise thing to do, so I stood by the 
little window and peered out into the darkness. 
My house, you know, was surrounded by the 
forest, with only a small path before the door 
running down to the village on one side, and into 
the heart of the forest on the other. The noise 
of the storm was terrific; the wind shrieked and 
howled, and the branches of the trees, rubbing and 
crashing against one another, made an unearthly 
noise. The perfume of the coffee filled the house, 
and my aunt was frying kobbliskies (doughnuts) 
for supper. I could not help thinking what a 
contrast it would be to the scene the pfarrer was 
leaving — a heartbroken wife, six little children, a 
dying man, and the wind howling as though a 
legion of devils were let loose. At last I caught 
the glimmer of the lantern, bobbing, now here, 
now there, through the trees, as the man slipped, 
or the wind buffeted him back. I knew they had 


258 The Forestman of Vimpek 


to pass my house, so I went out and waited for 

them. 

When they were within call I hailed them, and 
they came in. Both men were numb and pale 
with cold, and the church servant sniffed wistfully 
at the hot coffee. 

“Stay with us for the night, your reverence,” 
said my aunt, coming forward. “ Peter can have 
some hot coffee, and then he can go on and tell 
your housekeeper where you are.” 

“Thanks,” said his reverence. “You are very 
kind ; I will stay.” 

I brought him a pair of my new woollen socks 
and my straw slippers, and we went into my den 
to have coffee in peace. Peter sat and gossiped 
with my aunt, while he toasted himself before the 
fire, devouring kobbliskies, and gulping down the 
scalding coffee. 

The pfarrer seemed in an abstracted frame of 
mind. His eyes had a far-away look, and there 
was an unusual tenderness about his rather hard 
mouth. He poured out his coffee in silence ; 

then, as a fearful blast of wind shook the house, 
he said: “It is a terrible night to die in. And 
die he must. The doctor was there. There is no 
hope.” 

I nodded assent. I knew the man, an honest, 


Revelations 


259 

hard-working fellow. There was silence again. 
We were both thinking of the numbers the forest 
had killed in our time, some by accident, others 
frozen to death, or others who had sunk exhausted 
in the morass while trying to find their way out, 
through the mist or blinding snow-storms. 

“He will die easier now that you have been 
with him, your reverence,” I said at last. 

“ He will be with God before morning,” returned 
the pfarrer. “I know this Auton Vanek, well; 
an honest man. I married him ; I baptized his 
children, and now I shall bury him.” ^ 

There was another silence, with only the wind 
rattling the doors and whistling round the windows. 

“ And there is another loss before us ; ” he went 
on; “there is another loved friend to part with. 
I speak of Jan Marie. He will go in the spring 
— you have noticed the change ? ” I nodded, and 
again silence fell upon us. 

“ When he is gone,” the pfarrer said, “ we must 
one of us try to go to Prague and assist his 
widow. It was of this, that I have long been 
wanting to speak. You who live in the forest, 
learn silence. Did you know he had a son ? ” 
“No!” I said; and a sudden vision of a prof- 
ligate young man, for whom his parents had 
slaved, came before me. 


260 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ It is not that,” said the pfarrer, quietly, read- 
ing my thoughts. “ It is not that ; though it is 
sad enough as it is. The boy is deaf and dumb.” 

“ Poor parents ; poor boy,” I said. 

“ He was a small child when I first knew Jan 
Marie and his wife,” the pfarrer said. “We both 
lived in the same village, not very far from here. 
I was chaplain then, and Jan Marie was only 
underteacher ; and of course we became ac- 
quainted at once. I knew that the child was 
deaf and dumb; but for a long time I did not 
know what the worst part of the sorrow was. 
But one day, with many tears, Jan Marie’s wife 
told me what lay on her heart. It seems that 
before the child was bom, she had, on Good 
Friday, visited friends who were frying fish for 
dinner. There was nothing remarkable in that, 
I thought ; for all the world who can eat fish on 
that day do so. But she, poor woman, saw it 
otherwise. She ate the fish on that day, and it 
tasted good to her — so good that she remembered 
it and longed for more. When the child was born 
and during the first few months, no one noticed 
that he did not hear. But, slowly, it dawned on 
the mother that, no matter how lovingly she called 
him, he never looked her way, nor did he crow 
and coo to himself like other little babies. How 


Revelations 


261 


long she kept the secret I do not know, but of 
course it could not have been long, for Jan Marie 
is fond of children, and, then — you know the 
village gossips ! Well, when it was certain that 
the little Jan was deaf and dumb, what should 
his mother take into her head, but that she was 
the cause of it all. She had eaten fish on Good 
Friday. You know the superstition ? ” 

I nodded. Who in Bohemia does not know all 
this ? 

“ I tried to argue the matter with her,” the 
pfarrer went on. “ I told her it was the will <L>f 
God ; but she only wept the more, and kept say- 
ing over and over again, ‘ Unfortunate one! I have 
ruined my child.’ ” 

“You do not mean to tell me,” I exclaimed, 
“ that because she eat a bit of fish before her baby 
was born, that was the reason the poor child was 
born deaf and dumb ? ” 

“Of course it is not the reason,” said the 
pfarrer ; “ but what will you ? It is of no use to 
argue with a person who is convinced that her own 
opinion is the right one. I said all I could to con- 
sole her ; but she cried the more and declared she 
had ruined her child, her only child. It was all 
very sad.” 

“ It is more than sad,” I said wrathfully ; “ it is 


262 The Forestman of Vimpek 


ridiculous. As though Jan Marie’s wife did not 
have troubles enough of her own, without imagin- 
ing a pack of nonsense like this f ” 

“My friend,” said the pfarrer, “did you ever 
notice that in life it is not the real troubles that 
overwhelm us, but the imaginary ; even those, per- 
haps, that do not exist ? ” 

“ But how, in the name of common sense,” I 
persisted, “ can eating a piece of fish cause a child 
to be born deaf and dumb ? ” 

“ That is the worst part of these superstitions,” 
said the pfarrer, thoughtfully. “ The woman ate 
a bit of fish ; the child, for some cause or other, 
was born deaf and dumb. If Jan Marie’s wife 
had not eaten the fish, he might have been born 
so, just the same; but then she would not have 
reproached herself. As I have said, the imaginary 
troubles in life are generally the worst. Jan 
Marie’s wife is convinced that she has ruined her 
only child, because of the superstition that at such 
times one ought not to eat fish. ‘ What do the 
fishing people do,’ I asked her, ‘ who have nothing 
else to eat ? ’ But she only wept the more, and 
said that their part of the world was not Bohemia. 
She had heard of this superstition, she moaned, 
and had not believed it. It was counted to her as 
a sin. Argue with such people! Neither you, 


Revelations 


263 


nor I, nor any one on earth will persuade her 
otherwise.” 

“ And where is the boy now ? ” I said ; “ he 
must be grown up.” 

“ It is of this I wished to speak,” said the 
pfarrer. “ When little Jan was six, a bright, 
handsome little fellow, his father was appointed as 
teacher to this village. I was appointed pfarrer 
some years later, as you will remember. Well, I 
said to them, since the matter is as it is, would it 
not be better to put the boy into a deaf and dumb 
school than to keep him at home? You knoW 
that at Prague there is one of the finest institu- 
tions for such unfortunate ones, and I proposed 
trying to get him a half-free place. They were 
willing enough, poor souls. You know how hard 
it is to have a child of that kind about, especially 
a teacher’s son ; so, after a good deal of running 
about, begging this one and waiting at the door of 
another, I got him into the institution at Prague, 
and there he remained for years. His mother 
always goes to see him, every time she takes her 
trip to Prague to sell embroideries, and Jan Marie 
also visits him in the vacations. I also go to see 
him when I am in Prague. The lad is well grown, 
and is a cabinet-maker by trade ; but, although he 
is diligent and clever, he cannot earn enough to 


264 The Forestman of Vimpek 


support himself, poor lad. Every one cheats such 
afflicted people, and where are they to seek re- 
dress ? It is a shame.” 

“And how will it be when Jan Marie is taken 
from us?” I said. “ The widow will scarcely be 
able to live upon her small pension. What will 
become of the boy then?” 

“ I thought it all out long ago,” said the pfarrer, 
pouring out a second cup of coffee. “ And I told 
them what to do. You see, they are both so inno- 
cent one has to look after them a bit, like chil- 
dren. Jan Marie has insured his life to quite an 
amount for a man in his position, and they have 
always managed in one way or other to pay 
every year the small sum necessary to keep it 
up; and what with the embroidery and carving 
walking-sticks, and saving a few kreuzers now and 
then, they also have a nice little sum in the 
savings-bank in Prague. When they had collected 
a few florins, I sent it there for them ; so you see, 
when Jan Marie dies, they will be provided for 
in a humble way ; they are not extravagant, you 
know.” 

So there was the mystery of the village ex- 
plained. I could not help feeling a great pity for 
poor Jan Marie’s wife, with this secret care weigh- 
ing her heart down, while she stitched away at the 


Revelations 


265 


gorgeous altar-cloths, or let her tired eyes wander 
over the stony field to the forest beyond. 

“ Tell me,” I said to the pfarrer suddenly, 
“since you know them so well, how did Jan Marie 
and his wife ever come together ? ” 

“ That I cannot exactly tell you, my friend,” 
said the pfarrer, meditatively; “Jan Marie was 
already married when I first knew him. But 
from what he has dropped, now and then, I 
think he was disappointed in some love affair. 
And I have a vague notion — but only a notion, 
you know — that it may possibly have been witn 
Barbara Mlejnek, who was the first wife of the 
Farmer Mlejnek, Annie’s father.” 

“The farmer who once took the Agricultu- 
rist ?” I remarked. 

“Yes, the same,” replied the pfarrer, with a 
nod. “ I do not know — it may be all imagination. 
But this I do know, our Jan Marie and Mlej nek’s 
wife went to school together, to her father, who 
was the village teacher. And from what Jan 
Marie has dropped, here and there, if he had not 
been so poor he might have married her. But he 
had nothing except his school-teaching, and her 
grandfather, who took her to his farm when her 
father died, wanted a farmer’s son and not a 
teacher. Possibly Jan Marie may never have 


266 The Forestman of Vimpek 


spoken with Barbara on the subject Indeed, it is 
more than probable. When she married, he en- 
listed in the army, as a musician, and passed some 
years in Italy. As to Jan Marie’s wife, she was 
an orphan, and was brought up in a convent, 
where she learned to embroider; then she was 
nursery governess in a noble family, where they 
snubbed all the life out of her. She met Jan 
Marie, I believe, at some cousin of hers, and, as 
they were both quiet, silent people and getting on 
in years, they married ; and it would all have been 
well enough, had their boy been born like other 
boys.” 

While we were conversing, the storm had turned 
to a perfect hurricane. The noise was so loud out- 
side, that we had drawn our chairs close together 
so as to hear one another. Our heads nearly 
touched. 

The pfarrer looked around to see that we were 
alone. Then he said : “ There is still another matter 
that I wish to speak to you about. The merciful 
count has written to me of a secret piece of 
business that he wishes to have done, and you are 
the only person that I know I can trust to do it. 
You of the forest learn silence above others, and 
that is the first requirement.” 

Now I did not know the merciful count per- 


Revelations 


267 


sonally. He was not really my merciful count 
at all, as the cottage and bit of forest belonged 
to my forefathers centuries back. But as, in 
the old time of the robot or feudal system, our 
village would have belonged to him, he was 
generally entitled “our merciful count,” though 
he never lived among us ; indeed, few of us had 
ever seen him, so it was not to be wondered at 
that I was astonished to hear that he required my 
services. 

“ You know I told you once, when you had your 
cold,” continued the pfarrer, “what the merciful 
count had told me, himself, about finding the treas- 
ure that belonged to his ancestors.” I nodded, and 
he went on. 

“ It was a very strange story,” he said, “ but 
then, one cannot live long in Bohemia without 
hearing and seeing many strange things. He 
now wishes to sell the property, as the castle is not 
fit to live in, nor has he ready money enough to 
build one; but if he can halfway realize a good 
sum for the forest, he could live on the interest, or 
perhaps marry into a wealthy family. Now he has 
written to me that he has received several offers, 
but that he wishes me to find some honest man, 
who would go over the forest and make an esti- 
mate of its worth. You have graduated in the 


268 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Forest Academy, — who more fitted to do the 
business than you?” 

The pfarrer knew my weak point. Who more 
fond of prowling in forests than I, be they either 
my own or those of some other estate ? But one 
must be discreet. So I shut one eye and looked 
at the lamp with the other as if I were considering 
the business. 

“You will be paid, of course,” said the pfarrer, 
after a short pause. I nodded absent-mindedly. 
Then I said, “ There will be no hunting for treas- 
ure, I suppose ? ” 

“No!” said the pfarrer, “that business was 
settled long ago.” 

“Come now, frankly,” I said, “do you believe 
that cock-and-bull story of the hidden treasure ? ” 

“Yes, I do,” said the pfarrer, decidedly; “for I 
helped him sell some of the things. The Kanoni- 
cis in Prague bought most of the crucifixes.” 

This was a revelation, and I stared at the pfar- 
rer with open eyes. 

“ I was sorry for this merciful count of ours 
when he came to see me,” the pfarrer continued. 
“ I knew his father, by reputation, and I knew how 
he had mortgaged the estate and brought up the 
young man with great expectations, when, in real- 
ity, he had next to nothing, for a nobleman. So I 


Revelations 


269 


did what I could for him, the more that his grand- 
father, on his mother’s side, had assisted me when 
I was only a poor student and had made it possible 
for me to study for the priesthood. When he had 
told me all about finding the treasure, we, of course, 
kept it to ourselves. Every one would have left 
work and gone to digging under rocks in the forest 
if they had known about it. Then there would 
have been formalities, explanations, commissions, 
and heaven knows what ! I helped him as well as 
I could, and held my tongue, and you can do the 
same. Believe me, he is in just as bad a fix as the 
rest of us ; for to be a poor nobleman is no envia- 
ble position.” 

“Well!” I said; “since you wish it, and the 
young count is really in a bad way, I will do what 
you ask ; but of course in the spring.” 

The pfarrer shook my hand. 

“We who live in the forest together must 
help one another,” he said. “Those who show 
mercy, will also find mercy.” Then he got 
up. 

“ It is nearly two o’clock ; I think we had better 
both go to sleep,” he said. I lighted the candle 
and showed him to his bed, and then retired to my 
own ; but I could not sleep. The wind howled and 
whistled, and I could hear the crashing of trees as 


270 The Forestman of Vimpek 


they fell, while my thoughts were very nearly as 
stormy as the conflict outside. Toward morning 
I must, however, have fallen asleep ; for when I 
got up, the pfarrer had already breakfasted and 
gone back to the village. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A Visit to the Merciful Count 

A FTER my conversation with the pfarrer, I 
was not astonished, one summer day, when he 
came in to tell me that the merciful count was stay- 
ing at the next town and would like to see me. 
By this time, I had been all over his forests and 
had estimated them as of much higher value than 
the price he had been offered ; so, in a way, I had 
checkmated the director of the other nobleman who 
was trying to buy them below their worth. I had 
nothing to do with the buying and selling, of course, 
but having lived almost all my life in the forest, I 
knew the worth of a tree when I saw it, as well as 
any other forestman, and I wished to oblige the 
pfarrer, who had done me more than one good turn 
in his life. So when he proposed that we should 
hire a pricka next day and go and see the merciful 
count, I did not object. To tell the truth, I was all 
the more ready, because I had never seen the mer- 
ciful count, and I was rather curious to meet the 
protector of my sworn enemies, the gypsies. 

271 


272 The Forestman of Vimpek 


It was a beautiful morning when we started. 
The rye was just beginning to turn yellow and the 
wheat and barley fields were gay with red poppies 
and blue corn-flowers. The pfarrer was rather 
silent. He was thinking perhaps of the time when 
he was a poor student, and the family of the 
merciful count’s mother had assisted him. 

Our old bay horse was in the habit of being 
driven to market by a respectable peasant at a 
jog trot, and nothing I could do would hasten him. 
True, he would prick up his ears and start gal- 
lantly when I cracked the whip over his head; 
but in a minute or two it was the same old trot. 
Whenever we stopped to speak to any one, the 
brute would turn his head and look at us doubt- 
fully, as if he were meditating what kind of people 
we could be to wish to go so fast. At last we 
did reach the town, though not much sooner than 
we could have done on foot. But when one 
wishes to be noble and drive in state with another 
person’s horse and pricka, one has to put up with 
inconvenience. Before we entered the town, how- 
ever, I cracked the whip over our old bay’s head, 
so that we drove up before the Bohemian Crown 
with such a clatter that everybody ran out to see 
who was arriving. 

The merciful count was established in the best 


A Visit to the Merciful Count 273 


room of the Bohemian Crown, and as it looked 
out on the market-place where some dozen women 
were selling fruits and vegetables, I hoped he 
saw us come in state, in the pricka. 

He was a young man of perhaps twenty-eight 
or thirty, a thorough nobleman. Pale, elegant, 
with dark hair and eyes, and of commanding 
deportment, he looked every inch the descendant 
of a noble name. He met us graciously and 
showed the pfarrer especial honor, praying him 
to be seated on the sofa, while he rang and 
ordered wine to be served. When the servant 
had gone, and we were alone together, with the 
wine-glasses before us, the count turned to me 
with inquiries as to the worth of his forests. 

I pulled out my note-book and told him what 
was my estimate of the different parts — what 
portion could be sold for building purposes, what 
could be sent to Hamburg, and what others could 
be cut and sold as firing to the glass factories. 
The merciful count carefully noted down my esti- 
mates, and the names of the parts of the forest 
where the trees grew, as though he wished them 
for reference. On the whole I thought he seemed 
quite satisfied with my report. 

“ It is well I thought of asking your reverence,” 
he said, turning to the pfarrer; “I have been 

T 


274 The Forestman of Vimpek 


offered much less than the forests are worth, it is 
evident; and, perhaps, had I not spoken with 
your capable friend here, I might have sold them 
under their value.” 

We talked for some time about this and that, 
and I drew his attention to everything that I 
thought would be of use to him in the sale of his 
property. He was not exactly handsome, but his 
face changed with every thought and, for a noble- 
man, he seemed remarkably intelligent. From 
his whole way of acting and speaking, it was easy 
to see that he had not been brought up in Austria ; 
indeed he spoke Bohemian slowly and with a 
foreign accent, as though it cost him an effort to 
clothe his thoughts in an unfamiliar tongue. Still, 
on the whole, he made a good impression upon 
me, as being of a naturally noble nature ; cer- 
tainly, he was much more affable and pleasant 
than any other nobleman I had seen. When the 
conversation turned upon other subjects, it was 
to be seen at once that he had travelled much, 
and had to do with all kinds of men, in all kinds 
of circumstances. I think it was his cosmo- 
politan ideas that impressed me the most. 

We talked of many things, and time flew so fast 
that I was astonished when the servant brought 
in lunch. The pfarrer and I both rose, and 


A Visit to the Merciful Count 275 


would have left the count to lunch alone ; but he 
detained us, bidding the servant lay three covers. 

There was something so gracious in his yvhole 
manner that we could not resist him, and, against 
our will, we kept him company at lunch. He told 
us of the lands he had visited; of the hunting 
expeditions he had undertaken ; he showed us 
scars he had received from the lords of the forest 
in other lands. We sat and listened to him as 
though enchanted, and perhaps we were. Then 
I remembered what the pfarrer had told me about 
him, and I tried to bring the conversation back 
to our own forests. I spoke of my enemies, the 
gypsies, what a nuisance they were — always 
camping about in the forest, and making fires 
to cook their stolen hares. At this the merciful 
count looked at me meditatively, and turning to 
the pfarrer asked him whether he had heard any 
news of the runaway Jockel. 

The pfarrer shook his head. He knew nothing 
of the gypsy lad, he said. 

“ I wonder where he is,” said the merciful count. 
“ I know that gypsies are generally counted a bad 
lot ; I have heard it so often from honest people 
that I suppose it must be true. They are doubt- 
less vagabonds and thieves ; still, an old gypsy did 
me a good turn once ; at a time, too, when I was 


276 The Forestman of Vimpek 


desperate, and had hardly an acquaintance in the 
world.” 

The count poured us out some more wine, and 
offering us cigars said : “ I know you have often 
wondered why I favored gypsies so much as 
to let them always camp in my forest undisturbed, 
and that I kept Jockel in the ruined castle; but I 
have a reason for all this. If I had not met the 
gypsies one autumn day, camping out and eating 
stolen hares, I should, to-day, have no forest to 
sell.” 

Seeing that I stared at him in amazement, he 
went on : “ His reverence knows the story, and 
how it came about that I secured the treasure of 
my ancestors. There is no reason why you should 
not know it also ; only please keep it to yourself. 
I do not wish to be annoyed with questions about 
things that I cannot in any way either explain or 
fathom. I can only tell you what happened to 
me, and what came of it; that is all.” 

I was greatly interested. The words the pfarrer 
had dropped to me about the matter had made me 
curious as to the mystery of the treasure of the 
merciful count ; his words only increased my curi- 
osity. I respectfully begged to be permitted to 
hear it from his lips. So, lighting a fresh cigar, 
he told us the story of his quest. 


CHAPTER XX 


The Broken Sword 

I T was one of those dull autumn days in which 
there is hardly any sun or wind — so ran the 
story of the merciful count. Slowly and silently 
the dry yellow leaves fell on the ground, and 
although it was not yet five o’clock, the forest in 
which I was wandering with my gun was almost 
dark. 

I was wretched that day — utterly miserable, 
indeed. The only son of what I had always sup- 
posed a wealthy father, I had come home to find 
myself ruined. The fields I was to inherit had 
been sold or mortgaged ; the forest was cut down ; 
the castle was a ruin. 

Brought up though I had been in foreign cap- 
itals and speaking many tongues, I had still never 
learned a profession, and now what was I to do ? 

I had seen very little of my father; he never 
cared to have me near him ; it was because of his 
ill-health, so he told me. But I have since dis- 
covered that it was because he was an inveterate 
277 


278 The Forestman of Vimpek 


gambler. He had, however, always provided me 
with money and had led me to suppose he was a 
man of means. 

My mother had been one of those silent, patient 
women who make the best of a bad bargain, and 
when all hope had died out, and she knew my 
father was incurable, she slowly grew thinner and 
paler, till one day she lay down and never woke 
again. And yet, in his selfish way, my father 
loved her. “Your mother was a saint,” he said to 
me on the day she was buried ; “ I was not worthy 
of her.” 

But there it remained; he was not worthy of 
her — and he kept on gambling. 

It was in Naples that the end came — a quarrel 
over cards. The insult and the lie were passed 
when both players were half drunk and mad with 
gambling ; than came a cruel blow with a dagger, 
and my father was dead. 

I was thinking of all this, as I wandered in the 
silent forest. I had come home to Bohemia to 
find the estate so burdened with debt that it could 
only be a matter of a few months before it would 
be sold at auction. I had no profession, no money, 
and, thanks to my father, hardly any friends in 
Austria. I had, nothing but my youth and noble 
name to recommend me, and in Europe what is 


The Broken Sword 


279 

there for a nobleman to do but enter the army ? 
But even for that one must have money. 

I was wandering now in my own forest — mine 
at least so long as my creditors chose to let me 
have it. I was pondering over my future, which 
just then looked as dark as the forest itself, when 
I came out into a sort of clearing. The trees had 
been cut down, but the stumps still remained, and 
as I was very tired I sat down on one of them. 
I must have fallen asleep, I suppose for when, 
after a long time, I looked up, night had closed 
upon me. 

“ This is a nice thing,” I thought, “ and I do 
not know the way.” 

I called myself a fool, but that did not mend 
matters ; so I got up and stumbled along ; every 
little while my foot would get entangled in the 
root of a tree ; then I would run against a stump, 
or a branch would scratch my face. I was in 
hopes of getting out of the forest and into some 
cleared field, but after wandering in the dark for 
what seemed to me an eternity, I felt that I was 
no nearer my aim than before, so I determined to 
find a place in which to lie down and wait for the 
morning to try to find my way out. 

Straining my eyes, it seemed to me I saw a faint 
light, and regaining fresh courage I stumbled on. 


280 The Forestman of Vimpek 


It was indeed a light, and grew larger and brighter 
as I neared it. Then I saw what it was. In a 
larger clearing was a goodly fire of brushwood, 
and standing, sitting, and squatting about it were 
some twenty or more gypsies. They were Hun- 
garians — real gypsies, you know ; not the wander- 
ing comedians that often go by that name. 

I hesitated a moment ; should I advance, or 
should I hide myself once more in the forest? 
Had I been a rich man, I would have considered 
twice; but I had little to lose, nothing but my 
watch and chain at most, and a few florins in my 
pocket. I had eaten nothing since morning, and 
a delicious smell rose from the big kettle that 
hung over the fire. 

While I stood thinking, I became aware that 
sharp eyes had seen me ; to deliberate longer 
might perhaps be dangerous, so I advanced. 

“ Praised be the Lord Jesus ! ” I said, giving 
them the everyday greeting of Bohemia. 

“In everlasting! ” answered the gypsies. 

“I have lost my way, good people,” I said; 
“ perhaps you can tell me where I am, and how to 
get out of the forest.” 

“ The forest is large,” said an old gypsy. “ From 
what village do you come ? ” 

I told them the name of a village near my 


The Broken Sword 


281 


castle, but I did not say that I was lord of the 
manor. 

“ It is some hours from here,” he replied ; “ and 
as we have no lantern, you had better wait till 
morning ; then, if you will pay him, one of our lads 
may show you the way.” 

“ So be it,” I answered. “ But in the mean- 
while let me taste of your stew. I am famished.” 

“ It is all stolen, forestman,” said one of the 
gypsies, grinning, as he stirred the mess. 

“ Stolen or not, it smells delicious,” I answered. 
“ Give me some.” 

“You must be a new hand, hereabouts; I do 
not remember you,” remarked one of the older 
gypsies, who had been gazing at me since I came 
near the fire. 

“ I have been here only a fortnight,” I answered. 

“ Ah, yes ! That is why you lost your way,” he 
said. “Ah, well, young man, many a brave and 
true man has not only lost his way, but his life, in 
these forests.” 

“Are they so dangerous?” I asked, while a 
feeling of helplessness came over me. 

“ They are very dangerous,” said the old gypsy 
with what seemed to convey, also, the hidden 
meaning, “for the likes of you.” 

“Cross my hand with silver, young man, and 


282 The Forestman of Vimpek 


I will tell your future,” whispered a shrivelled 
hag. 

“ Good mother,” I said, “ I have no gold, and 
my few bits of silver will hardly pay for my sup- 
per and the hire of one of your lads to show me 
the way to-morrow; but take what I have,” and I 
gave her a small silver coin. 

“ Is that all you have, forestman ? ” laughed the 
gypsies. “ You are nearly as poor as we are.” 

“Good friends,” I replied, “if you but knew, I 
am just as poor, perhaps poorer than you.” 

“Ah, well, there never was a road without a 
turning,” was the cheery reply. “Take potluck 
with us, then, though as a general thing we detest 
forestmen, and they hate us ; it is an old, old feud. 
Many a life has it cost on both sides, and will cost 
again ! Hand round the basins.” 

The stew was served in tin basins, and as far as 
I could make out, was a mixture of meat and pota- 
toes, stewed with onions and red pepper. I was 
hungry and ate heartily, not thinking it wise to 
inquire of what the stew was made. 

The gypsies looked at me now and then, and 
seemed astonished at my appetite ; doubtless they 
had dined well, but I had eaten nothing since 
morning. After supper they began to drink from 
various black bottles that contained whiskey and 


The Broken Sword 


283 

rum. I did not care for that, so I went down to a 
little brook that ran not far away, and drank my 
fill of cold water. When I came back, and was 
sitting meditatively before the fire, the old gypsy 
woman came up to me and said : — 

“ It is a long time since any one called me * Good 
mother,’ ” she remarked. “ I will tell you your 
future for nothing, young man.” 

I smiled and stretched out my right hand. 

“ No,” she said, “ the other.” 

“The left, then? Here it is.” 

She looked at it a moment ; then she said : 
“Your lines of life are strangely mixed; you have 
wandered far and wide, but I cannot see the end. 
That is strange — that is very strange, for I am 
good at reading the future.” 

I could not help smiling, as my faith in fortune- 
telling was but slight. Perhaps my smile aggra- 
vated her, for she said : — 

“Though I cannot read your future, we have 
those among us who can ; but they do it for gold, 
for pure yellow gold.” 

“I have no gold, you see,” I replied, “so my 
future must remain unread, good mother, and the 
end will come for me, as for you. We both must 
die; it requires no fortune-telling to know that.” 

Perhaps something in my face or voice revealed 


284 The Forestman of Vimpek 


to those dark children of the forest, that all was 
not well with me. There was a hush ; then in abso- 
lute silence, a very old gypsy woman who had sat 
all the time huddled by the fire in a blanket, rose 
and hobbled to me. She was not prepossessing. 
Bent almost double with age, with a dark, wrin- 
kled face, she looked a hundred if a day. Locks 
of iron-gray hair, into which were braided what 
looked like gold threads and coins, hung over her 
eyes and neck. Around her throat was a neck- 
lace of old coins and rudely cut stones, and from 
her ears hung heavy gold ear-rings. In contrast 
to all this, she was dressed in filthy rags, and the 
red blanket she wore must once have belonged to 
a stable, and was now threadbare and ragged. 

“You were always an ignorant wench!” she 
cried to the old woman who had proposed to tell 
me my fortune. “ Let the stranger show me his 
hand, and he shall see if there is wisdom with the 
gypsies or not.” 

Her dark eyes literally shone as she spoke, and 
I could easily believe that if the future were to be 
read at all, she would read it. She dropped in a 
heap by my side and I stretched out my left hand. 

With a hand that was more like a bird’s claw 
•than flesh and bone, she held mine, while her 
dark, fiery eyes were riveted on my palm. 


The Broken Sword 


285 


“ It is the hand of a gentleman, of a merciful 
gentlemen. You are no forestman,” she said. 

“You are right, good mother; I never said I 
was.” 

There was a low murmur of discontent from the 
gypsies. 

“ He is a spy ! ” I heard them mutter. But the 
old gypsy commanded silence. 

“ He is no spy, children,” she said, looking at 
my palm once more. “ But what is this ? I see 
gold — gold — gold ! ” 

“ Ah, she is wandering in her mind again ! ” 
said the gypsies. “ She is very old, and is always 
talking of the gold she believes is hidden some- 
where ; but neither she nor any one else has ever 
seen it. She is very old, and in her dotage. 
Come lads, let us dance and wrestle like free 
gypsies.” With that, most of the young men went 
away, while the older ones lit their pipes and went 
to look at the wrestling and dancing. 

The old gypsy did not heed them ; she still kept 
my hand, and muttered : — 

“ They are fools ! They ridicule the wisdom of 
their fathers. They are thieves; they are bark- 
ing curs ; they are everything but gypsies — the 
low-born beggars! You stand on the brink of a 
great disaster, but you will be — you may be saved. 


*2 86 The Forestman of Vimpek 


I do not say that surely you will be saved, but you 
may; it is in your own power.” 

“ I believe I am facing disaster,” I admitted, 
astonished at her words in spite of myself. 

Just then some one threw more brushwood on 
the fire, and the flames rose high. It was a 
strange scene ; the silent forest was lit up by the 
flickering glare of the flames that cast uncertain 
lights on the swarthy, dancing men and women, 
and the half-naked children watchiug them. 

She studied my hand a long time; then she 
fixed her burning eyes on my face, while in a 
low, strange whisper she said : — 

“ You are he ! ” 

“ Who am I ? ” I asked. 

“ The lord of the manor, and the one who will 
find the treasure.” 

“ What lord ? What treasure ? ” I asked, while 
a strange sleepiness came over me as I stared into 
her dark eyes. 

She did not take her eyes from my face, and 
the hand that held mine was cold as death. 

“Years and years ago, your grandfather saved 
my life,” she said. “ He saved the life of my 
children, years before you were born. We were 
being hunted like wild animals then, and he saved 
us all — all!” she repeated, waving her skinny 


The Broken Sword 


287 


hand over the group by the fire. “ He hid us 
and gave us food ; not for a few hours, but for 
days, for weeks. I did not know the secret then, 
and when I wandered back with my tribe years 
after, and wished to tell the merciful count, he 
was dead. Your father — ah, well! he hunted us 
like wild animals when he was at home, so I would 
never tell him. But you are different ; I see it in 
your hand. If you will trust me, I will make you 
rich — oh, how rich ! Often in the night I have 
seen it glisten, the beautiful gold — the beautiful 
gold — that has been hidden so long, oh, so 
long ! ” 

Was it imagination ? Was it sympathy ? But 
as she spoke, I also seemed to see heaps of gold. 

“ Do you see it ? ” she asked, while her fiery 
eyes seemed to read my soul ; “ the gold, the 
gold, the beautiful gold ? ” 

“ I see it,” I said dreamily ; “ but where is it ? ” 

“ Ah, that is the trouble ! Where is it ? ” She 
laughed a chuckling sort of laugh. “ That is what 
neither of us knows; but we might, oh, yes, we 
might know, if we had but the courage ! Ah, yes, 
if we had but the courage ! ” 

Two of the young men who had been wrestling 
now began to fight, and the group at the fire ran 
to see the fun. I stared at them stupidly ; the 


288 The Forestman of Vimpek 


overpowering drowsiness came deeper upon me ; 
in spite of myself my eyes closed, though I re- 
member trying hard to keep awake. To all ap- 
pearances I slept ; but I did not sleep. It seemed 
to me I was again in my desolate castle, and I 
was wandering from room to room seeking the 
treasure. How long I wandered I do not know ; 
never in my waking hours had I seen everything 
so distinctly as now; and yet I kept saying to 
myself that it was a dream, and that I was 
asleep. 

Assuredly in my waking hours I had never 
searched my property so minutely as now; but 
nothing came of it. I found no treasure. Then 
a voice reached me, the voice of the old gypsy, and 
it said : — 

“ Go to the weapons in the hall ; try them one 
by one.” 

In one of the halls there really hung some very 
old guns and rusty swords that my Hussite fore- 
fathers had worn. Obediently — I hardly seemed 
to feel as though I had any control over myself — 
I went, and, so it seemed to me, took the weapons 
from the wall. When I came to the last, a rusty 
sword with point broken off, I felt a sudden, strange 
sensation. It seemed to me that I dreamed within 
a dream, for I saw the hall filled with armed men 


The Broken Sword 


289 


dressed in the garb of a former generation. They 
were soldiers, evidently, for nearly all of them were 
in armor, and carried strange weapons. Then a 
commanding figure entered the room, and I saw 
distinctly how every face was turned to him ; 
although I could not hear the voice, I somehow 
knew that he was their lord, and was ordering 
them to do something, or go somewhere; then I 
saw him take out a book, splendidly bound, while 
two others swore something on it ; then all three 
went away, and it seemed to me that the voice of 
of the old gypsy said : — 

“ Follow them ; they will hide the treasure.” 

I did follow them ; far out into the forest I went, 
to a large rock, beside which they dug a hole, and 
then, with much trouble, carried from the castle a 
large, iron chest and buried it there. Nothing 
that I ever saw in real life could have been more 
distinct than this vision. Then I awoke ; a deadly 
sickness was upon me; I felt weak and cold, though 
I lay near the fire that was still burning dully. Be- 
side me and around me lay the gypsies, asleep. If 
I had drunk from their bottles I should have 
thought they had drugged me, but I had not 
tasted anything. 

Wearily I stretched out my stiffened limbs, and 
tried to think my vision a strange dream, when I 
u 


290 The Forestman of Vimpek 


felt, rather than saw, some one creeping toward 
me. It was the old gypsy. 

“ Master,” she said in a whisper, “ I am old, very 
old, and poor, exceedingly poor. If I help you to 
find your treasure, will you give me some of the 
gold? You will be generous to the poor, old 
gypsy, will you not ? ” 

“ I will give you gold to your fill, if I really do 
find the treasure,” I assured her. 

“If you really do find it ? Can you doubt you 
will find it ? ” she asked. 

“ If it is not all a dream, it is hid in the forest 
near a rock,” I said. “ But, good mother, the for- 
est is large, and there are hundreds of rocks. How 
will you find the right one ? ” 

“Leave that to me. To-morrow we shall be 
camped near your castle. Bring the sword with- 
out a point ; don’t forget it ; without that we can 
find nothing ; have, too, a shovel and pickaxe, also 
a lantern hid away in the garden. The rest I will 
attend to. Only have courage, and the gold will 
be yours. I saw it all in your hand. After mid- 
night, wait for me at that point of the forest near- 
est the castle ; do not fail to be there. But not a 
word to any one, least of all to those beggars,” 
and she pointed to the gypsies. “ All of my chil- 
dren are dead, and I have but one grandson, a 


The Broken Sword 


291 


little boy ; he has the wisdom of his forefathers, 
the mighty Black Men ; he will accompany us.” 

She disappeared in the forest, and then I really 
fell asleep, utterly worn out. 

I must have slept a long time, for when I awoke 
all the gypsies were up and having their break- 
fast of soup. They gave me some, and I can say 
it was excellent, though no doubt, like the supper, 
it was made from stolen meat and potatoes. 

“We have determined to go by way of your 
village,” said one of the older gypsies, “and if 
you like we will show you the path. The women 
and children ride in the wagons, and as there are 
a lot of us we will go in separate parties so as not 
to attract the attention of our friends, the gen- 
darmes. I have heard from some of our comrades 
that what you told us about being poor is true, 
and that your castle will soon be sold over your 
head. I am sorry for you, for you seem an honest 
lad ; if you care to join us, you are welcome.” 

I thanked him for his invitation, and remarked 
that I had passed a pleasant evening in their 
company. 

“Ah, yes,” he answered, “only old Kanda 
frightened you with her talk; she is not quite 
right in her head, but clever — ah, very clever! 
She has the wisdom of the Evil One, and as for her 


292 The Forestman of Vimpek 


imp of a grandson — But what she said of your 
grandfather is true ; her husband was chief of the 
tribe then ; if it had not been true, that gold 
watch and chain of yours would be mine to-day.” 

I went with the men a long way through the 
forest, but as soon as I thought I could find my 
path alone, I bade them good-by and went on 
by myself. The women and children, it seemed, 
travelled in carts drawn by ponies through other 
roads, so that I did not see the old gypsy again. 
Indeed, I began to think it was all an ugly dream, 
the more so because my head ached and I felt 
ill and weak. 

When I reached home I lay down and slept, 
and it was afternoon before I awoke ; the sun was 
shining, and everything looked bright. After 
eating my dinner a strange feeling of unrest pos- 
sessed me. I determined to wander over my castle 
and see if it resembled my dream. I had been 
over it many times before, but I had never seen 
it so distinctly as when I lay half asleep by the 
old gypsy. 

When I came to the hall where the weapons 
hung, I thought to myself : — 

“Now here, is a good chance to see if I was 
dreaming or not. One of these swords must have 
a broken point.” 


The Broken Sword 


2 93 


I began to examine them, and, to my astonish- 
ment, one did have a broken point. 

“ This is strange,” I pondered, and then I 
remembered how the old gypsy had told me to 
wait for her after midnight with the sword. 

Of course, I had no intention of meeting her; 
perhaps it was only a trap to get my watch and 
chain from me, when the gypsies were not bound 
by hospitality to a guest to leave me in peace. 
I put the sword back in its place and went away ; 
but a strange, restless feeling was upon me. I 
could not read or settle myself to anything. What 
if there were some truth in the matter ? I had 
heard as a child that my Hussite forefathers, like 
many others, had hidden all their treasures before 
going into the war from which they never returned, 
and that some of their servants had brought back 
such of the weapons as they could find ; though 
when questioned as to the treasure, they knew 
nothing ; but then, as almost every old castle in 
Bohemia is supposed to be haunted and to have 
a buried treasure, there was nothing new in all 
this. 

I had made up my mind it was all nonsense, 
and taking down an old book I tried to read ; but 
it did not interest me. Restlessly I began to write 
letters, but every little while I found myself writing 


294 The Forestman of Vimpek 


something that did not belong fo the matter. Then 
I thought I would go fishing, and I did ; but the 
same restlessness was upon me. Exasperated with 
myself, I ate my supper, and concluded to go to 
bed early ; but I could not sleep. I had made up 
my mind that I would not meet the gypsy, but 
somehow, as the time drew near, I felt an almost 
irresistible desire to see at least if the old gypsy 
kept her word and was waiting for me. 

“You can leave your watch and chain at home,” 
I said. 

My hand grasped the broken sword, that for 
some unknown reason I had taken from the wall 
into my room during the afternoon; the lantern 
with the oil lamp was also ready, and as for spade 
and pickaxe, they were in the garden-house. 

“You are a fool, and worse than a fool!” I 
said to myself, as I stole out into the desolate 
garden that was nearest the forest. “ It is absurd 
for a man of your sense to be led into such 
childish pranks by a cheat of an old gypsy ! 
How your friends would laugh at you if they 
could see you ! And you deserve it all — hist ! 
What was that ? ” 

It was a dark night, the moon was hidden every 
little while by driving clouds, and I had not lighted 
the lantern; but it seemed to me that I saw a 


The Broken Sword 


295 


dark shadow, or rather two dark shadows, creep- 
ing toward me. 

Yes, it was so, I could see them plainly; it 
was the old gypsy and her grandson, a child who 
might be much older than his size would warrant, 
as he was small and puny, but he had the magnifi- 
cent eyes of his grandmother.. 

“ It is well you are here,” she whispered. “ It 
is very well.” 

I felt like a fool as I stood by her, but she did 
not notice me at all ; indeed, it seemed to me that 
she stood almost upright, and that a certain air of 
dignity and authority possessed her as she told us 
to follow where she led. She took us to a thick 
clump of trees, telling me to take the spade and 
pickaxe with me. And here comes the strange 
part of my story. 

She lighted the lamp, and, having first put the 
sword with the broken point in the boy’s hand, she 
placed the lamp so that its light shone straight into 
her grandson’s face. Then she began muttering 
to herself, while she waved her hands in what 
seemed to me fantastic circles around the lad’s 
head. To my astonishment his eyes closed, and 
he seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep. 

“ Do you see the gold ? ” she whispered. 

“I see no gold,” he said, in a strange, low voice 


296 The Forestman of Vimpek 


that sounded far away. “But I see a man, a 
merciful gentleman.” 

“ It is well,” she said. “ We must follow him. 
Take Jockel, and I will carry the spade and 
pickaxe.” 

Yesterday she had looked so old I would have 
thought she could hardly carry herself ; but now 
she caught up the tools, and, pointing to the sleep- 
ing child, said: — 

“ Take him in your arms.” 

Being in for a fool’s errand, I might as well go 
through it all, I thought, as I took the ragged 
Jockel in my arms — to tell the truth, he was not 
heavy — and followed her. Every little while she 
would turn and ask : — 

“Are we right, Jockel? Is the gentleman 
before you?” 

And the low voice would answer : — 

“ You are right.” 

At last we came to where the path in the forest 
separated into different ways. 

“Stop,” she said. “Which path is it now, 
Jockel ? ” 

“ He does not seem to like any of them,” 
replied Jockel. “He stands still and con- 
siders.” 

“ We must wait awhile,” whispered the old 


The Broken Sword 


297 

gyp s y. ‘‘Put the boy down. Now watch him 
closely, Jockel ! ” 

I was too much astonished at first to say any- 
thing ; then, as I gazed into the boy’s face, that 
looked like that of a corpse, a sudden dread, a 
feeling of horror, possessed me. What strange 
power had this old gypsy ? And what part did I 
play in this midnight mystery ? 

We sat there silent as death, while our unseen 
leader seemed to be meditating ; then I broke the 
silence by whispering to the gypsy : — 

“ Let him describe the gentleman.” 

“Describe the merciful gentleman, Jockel,” 
ordered the old gypsy. 

“ He is tall and straightly built,” the boy replied ; 
“he has short breeches and high boots, and a 
black velvet coat hangs from his shoulders; his 
hat is broad brimmed, and has long, curling feath- 
ers ; from his side hangs a sword. His face I 
cannot see distinctly ; it is half hidden by his hat ; 
but the forefinger of his left hand is cut off ; he 
has only a stump. He is going now, and by no 
path. I know where he is going — to the spring 
by the rock of Jason ! Quick, quick, or I shall 
lose sight of him ! ” 

“ By the rock ! Quick — quick ! Pick him up ! ” 
cried the old gypsy. 


298 The Forestman of Vimpek 


We crept on as before. On and on we went, 
through tangled brushwood, by great giant trees, 
my feet sinking in the moss, my face and hands 
scratched by the brambles and branches. 

“ Is he before us, Jockel ? ” 

“ He is before,” answered the far-off voice that 
never spoke except to answer. 

At length we reached a part of the forest where 
the trees were very large and massive. By a great 
rock that looked as though some volcanic eruption 
had forced it out of the bowels of the earth, we 
stopped. 

“This is the rock of Jason,” said the gypsy; 
“what is he doing now, Jockel ? ” 

“He is meditating as before,” replied Jockel. 

“ Watch him. What is he doing now ? ” 

“ He has marked a tree.” 

“Good! Put the boy down,” the old gypsy 
commanded me. 

I laid Jockel on the moss and stood shivering, 
though the night was not cold. The moon had 
come out, and the forest looked like an enchanted 
place ; it seemed to me as though all evil influences 
were at work, and I almost expected to see the 
Evil One in person glide from behind some tree. 
The old gypsy seemed to be mumbling some 
charm over the sleeping boy; then she took the 


The Broken Sword 


299 


broken sword from his hand and thrust it into 
mine. 

“ It is your turn now,” she said. “ Touch each 
tree around here ; no one can find the treasure but 
you.” 

The cold perspiration ran down my back as I 
took the sword and mechanically touched the trees 
around, while the old hag watched me with her 
shining eyes, always asking her grandson, as I 
touched a tree : — 

“ Is that the right one ? ” 

“ No, no, no ! ” came the answer. 

I was growing weary. “ When will all this 
fool’s play come to an end ? ” I asked myself as I 
struck a very old tree, so old that most of the 
branches were dead and the trunk half rotten. 

But, as I touched it, the far-off voice said, 
“That is the tree.” 

“Quick, quick! Handle your pickaxe like a 
man, even if you are a gentleman born,” whispered 
the gypsy. 

I fell to work ; it was not an easy task, but I 
was trembling with excitement and a feeling that 
now something would be revealed — I did not 
know what. 

We must have made a strange group — the sleep- 
ing child, the old gypsy, and the young man tearing 


300 The Forestman of Vimpek 


up the ground in the forest, with the pale autumn 
moonlight shining down on us, and my lamp 
gleaming like a big glow-worm in the distance. 

I may have worked for an hour; I may have 
worked for more ; for I took no note of time, when 
the old gypsy, again taking the broken sword, put 
it in the child’s hands and asked : — 

“ Are we near the treasure, Jockel ? ” 

“ Near, near, very near ! ” said the boy. “It is 
in an iron chest. I see many things in it — and 
gold — beautiful shining gold ! ” 

The perspiration was rolling down my face; 
every bone in my body was aching ; but on and on 
I worked, and at length the pickaxe struck some- 
thing that gave out a sound like metal. Blow after 
blow I struck, and shovelled away the earth, the 
old gypsy helping me with her skinny hands. 
Then we came to it at last ; it was an iron chest, 
even as the boy had said. 

It was hopeless for me to try to get it out ; it 
would have been the work of several men ; so, 
with great difficulty, I tore apart the hasps that 
held the lid, rusty with age. The lock, too, held 
fast; I could not break it. When at last the 
chest was opened we both fell on our knees to 
look, and by the lamplight we saw the glimmer 
of gold, large pieces and small. There were cruci- 


The Broken Sword 


301 


fixes, too, crosses and goblets, rings, and jewelry 
of all kinds. 

There, in that silent forest, I thanked God, who 
had saved me and given me back the wealth of my 
forefathers. 

The gypsy seemed hardly less moved. 

“The gold,” she said, “the beautiful gold! I 
have seen it for years.” 

“ And why did you not come for it before ? ” I 
asked. 

“ I could not have found it without you ; no one 
could have found it but you. But you will give me 
some of the gold ? Without me you would not 
have found it.” 

“ I will keep my word. And the boy there ?” 

“Jockel? Ah, yes, Jockel! He is all I have, 
and I am old, very old. I will give it to him, the 
beautiful gold, when I die ; but we must hide it 
now ; it will soon be morning.” 

“ How shall I hide it ? ” I asked, for a terrible 
exhaustion was coming over me. I felt I could 
not work much longer. 

“ Only a few steps, there is a cave,” replied the 
gyp S y. “ We can hide it there. Come, hand out 
the things.” 

I filled her ragged skirt with the jewels and gold, 
and taking the crosses and crucifixes in my arms I 


302 The Forestman of Vimpek 


staggered after her. My head was giddy ; my legs 
could hardly carry me. 

She crept slowly forward; all her new-found 
strength seemed to have left her and she was once 
more the gypsy hag. 

We hid the things in the cave, covering them 
deep with dry leaves ; then I went back for the 
sleeping Jockel, and carried him to the cavern. 
The old gypsy met me, creeping slowly on, and 
said : — 

“ Lay him down here in the forest where there 
is plenty of air; he will the sooner* come to 
himself.” 

She sat beside him and began making strange 
circles over his head and face. 

“Will he remember all this when he comes to 
himself ? ” I asked. 

“ No, he will remember nothing,” she replied. 

“ And where did you learn this art ? ” 

“From my forefathers, who were wise,” she 
answered. “ Ah ! the gypsies of old had wisdom. 
But now — but now — oh, they are ignorant 
wretches ; they are not worthy to be called 
gypsies ! ” 

The boy camp to himself and stared about him, 
but seeing the accustomed forest and his grand- 
mother, at once fell asleep. 


The Broken Sword 


303 


We must all have slept hard and long, for the 
sun was high in the heavens when I awoke. Jockel 
was sobbing. 

“ Why are you crying ? ” I asked. “ Are you 
hungry ? ” 

“Yes, I am hungry,” said the boy. “ But I am 
not prying because of that. My grandmother is 
dead.” 

“ Dead ! ” I cried. 

“Yes, dead, quite dead; and I have taken her 
necklace and ear-rings, for they are mine, you 
know. I am her only grandson.” 

Indeed, it was so. She lay as though asleep, 
but there was not a sign of life, and after trying all 
I could to revive her, I had to leave her. The 
excitement and fatigue had been too much for 
the old woman, and she lay as peacefully in the 
silent forest as she would have done in her own 
bed — that is, if she ever had a bed. 

To Jockel such a death brought no terror; he 
had probably seen dozens die, with nothing but 
the silent stars 'and the rustling leaves above them. 

Deeply moved, I took him by the hand and led 
him away to my lonely castle, where he has lived 
ever since. You have often wondered why I have 
a gypsy to take care of the place ; now you know 
why. 


304 The Forestman of Vimpek 


I paid my debts and went to Prague, where I 
hunted up the old annals of the family, and learned 
that one of my ancestors had been beheaded for 
“treason and the Protestant faith.” “He was a 
mighty lord and stately man,” said the historian, 
“ who had shown his bravery on many a German 
battle-field, where he had been several times 
wounded ; in his last battle but one, he lost the 
forefinger of his left hand, fighting for his 
country.” 


CHAPTER XXI 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 

A S the pfarrer and I returned to our village 
after bidding the merciful count adieu, we 
discussed his remarkable story, and tried to explain 
the mystery of the gypsy boy’s miraculous sight. 
But we could decide nothing. It was truly a 
singular tale. 

But there is a time for everything in this world, 
says Solomon, and not long after our visit to the 
count, the time came when I did as do all my 
neighbors, and went on a pilgrimage to the Holy 
Mountain in Pribram. Then, too, as a wise man, 
of two evils I chose the least — that was, the pil- 
grimage. For, you see, my aunt had long wanted 
to turn the house upside down ; and now that she 
had, to assist her, her cousin, who saw ghosts, I 
was powerless. What can a poor man do in the 
clutches of two women, who believe “cleanliness 
is next to godliness ? ” 

My aunt baked some buchtys or white bread 
while admonishing me “to attend to my soul in 

305 


x 


30 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


time” (I had not been on a pilgrimage since my 
boyhood). She provided me with old felt slippers, 
and an empty bottle to bring back full of water 
from the Holy Well ; gave me a clean handker- 
chief, and her blessing, and in the same breath 
sent for the whitewasher, the painter, the carpen- 
ter, and heaven knows who else. So I bade her 
good-by, and wandered disconsolately through the 
forest to the town. It is one thing to go on a 
pilgrimage of your own free will, and another to 
be forced to go by untoward circumstances. 

It was very early; the birds were all singing 
happily, flying about from tree to tree ; between 
the trees one could see patches of wild straw- 
berries; here and there a mushroom or cham- 
pignon raised its brown or red head above the 
moss, while the squirrels bounded without fear 
from branch to branch, as if they noticed that for 
once in my life I was without my gun. It was so 
quiet and peaceful in the forest, with only the song 
of bird or hum of insect to disturb me, that I 
began to feel quite peaceful and resigned. 

It was the day before the “ Assumption of the 
Blessed Virgin Mary” (the fifteenth of August) 
and I found the whole town in an uproar. 

“This is the happy effect of the missionaries,” 
said the pfarrer’s housekeeper to me, when I met 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 307 


her wandering about the market-place pricing the 
wares, not with the intention of buying them, but 
from that desire for knowledge, so prominent in 
her disposition. 

‘‘Twenty-three villages are represented here 
to-day,” she went on. “ Oh ! it will be a beautiful 
pilgrimage ! ” 

“Assuredly,” I said, sweetly, “but don’t you 
think it would be wise if we regaled ourselves 
with, say a sausage, and a glass of beer, before we 
started. It will be a terribly hot day. Look at the 
sky.” 

The pfarrer’s housekeeper cast a knowing glance 
at the sky. “Yes, it will be hot,” she assented. 

“At the Black Charger they have excellent 
sausages, and the beer is kept on ice,” I said, insin- 
uatingly. “ The way to Pribram is long and dusty ; 
let us recruit our strength while we may.” 

“ Perhaps you are right ; let us do so,” she said. 
Here let me mention that the pfarrer’s house- 
keeper was not exactly a pleasant person to deal 
with when hungry, and as I wished to ride in 
peace in the wagon from our village I was quite 
willing to refresh her in advance with sausages 
and beer. 

During the repast, she told me all the news she 
had been able to gather during the short time she 


308 The Forestman of Vimpek 


had been in the town. There were sixteen covered 
carts in all, and several hundred pilgrims, she told 
me. 

“We must go early so as to see everything,” she 
said. “ Oh ! it will be beautiful ! ” 

I would have preferred drinking another glass 
of beer; but duty is duty and we went. 

“ Do you see that cart with the black horses ? ” 
she said. “Well! they are from Zaluz, and they 
have two candles with them. Candles, I tell you ! 
The like was never seen before. They weigh six 
pounds, and cost eight florins. Eight, I tell you, 
not a kreuzer less. I know all about it, for I have 
a cousin married in Zaluz, and she showed them to 
me. They are of the finest wax, and ornamented 
with doves sitting on a gold heart, surrounded with 
roses. Oh ! I assure you, they are just beautiful, 
really a work of art. Hynek looked over my shoul- 
der, and saw them, and he was done for, I can tell 
you. Perhaps he will take to painting doves now 
instead of the Day of Judgment. Those thin grays 
are from Chmenla. Well, they may be devout at 
Chmenla, but they certainly do not feed their beasts 
as they ought.” 

While we stood looking at the carts, and the 
pfarrer’s housekeeper was telling me from where 
they had come, and how much the horses were 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 309 


said to be worth, we noticed a movement among 
the pilgrims, and went to see what it was. 

“They are bringing the Virgin Mary of the 
town,” said the pfarrer’s housekeeper. “ She will 
accompany us to Pribram. Ah ! Ah ! See how 
beautiful! ” 

Four girls of about thirteen or fourteen carried 
a sort of frame called in Bohemia a “ throne,” in 
the middle of which stood a figure of the Virgin 
Mary about three feet high. It was dressed in 
white satin, with gold stars, and a crown of gold 
was upon her head. From out her long mantle 
one saw the head of Christ with a crown, but the 
rest of the body was hid by the mantle. From the 
mantle hung broad ribbons, that were borne on 
each side by girls, six in all. These girls are called 
bridesmaids in Bohemia, and are always dressed 
in white, with green wreaths on their curly, blond 
heads. While I was looking at this pleasing sight, 
I felt an unpleasant poke in my ribs, from the 
sharp elbow of the pfarrer’s housekeeper. 

“ Dear, dear ! ” she exclaimed, “just look there ! 
Why ! it’s Prokop.” 

And Prokop it was. His clothes were shabby, 
but they were his best. And I answered, “ Doubt- 
less he is going with us. He’s got his saint-day’s 
clothes on.” 


3io The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ So he has,” said the housekeeper, “ and even 
his old slippers. Do you see them poking out of 
his bundle? Well, who says that miracles never 
happen nowadays ? ” 

It did seem a miracle, but I held my peace. 
Prokop was not like other people, and it was best 
to hold one’s tongue. Then, too, the procession 
was forming, and we needed to find our place 
among our neighbors. 

It struck eight o’clock; the bells commenced 
ringing; the maidens with the throne moved off, 
and the pilgrimage had begun. Following the 
throne with the Virgin Mary came the town chap- 
lain and a few priests from the neighboring vil- 
lages; then came the banners and the pilgrims, 
followed by the devout from the town who accom- 
panied them out of the market-place as far as the 
cross that stands on the way to the cemetery. 

We began with five paters, five aves, and a 
credo. We all walked devoutly behind the throne, 
making the necessary responses when we came to 
the “Litany of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” com- 
monly called the “ Litany of Loretto.” 

Of course the priest’s voice could not have been 
heard by all, but every village had his own peasant 
who knew all the litanies and prayers by heart, 
and recited the part of the priest, while we only 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 


3 ** 


answered. For about half an hour we prayed 
devoutly, till we came to the cross at the ceme- 
tery; here we paused and recited a few paters 
and aves, after which the town people took leave 
of us and returned home. Then we went on, still 
praying and responding, until we were well on 
our pilgrimage and had reached the dusty high- 
way. We now made a general pause, and such of 
us as had paid the driver got in the carts filled 
with straw that had been following us. The 
priest with the statue of the Virgin Mary, the 
bridesmaids, and the banner boys led the pilgrim- 
age, while the carts came next, one behind the 
other, at a walk, and these were followed in turn 
by the devout who wished to make the pilgrim- 
age on foot, or by the very poor who could not 
pay. 

The pfarrer’s housekeeper and I were among 
the first to climb into the cart, but we were soon 
reenforced by the poet Jaroslav Kimperc, the mil- 
ler’s son Vavra, and a number of our neighbors, 
mostly women. Lastly, when there was hardly 
place for him to sit down, came Hynek, the car- 
penter, merchant, and painter, who greeted us 
with a solemn “Praised be the Lord Jesus!” 

We were not exactly pleased to see Hynek, for 
as he was the most devout among us, we had 


312 The Forestman of Vimpek 


rather counted that he would do his pilgrimage on 
foot, and we would do a little innocent gossiping 
between the prayers. But here he was. His flam- 
ing red hair was so greased that it looked a dull 
brown, and in his bony hand he carried a long 
blue and white rosary. His little green eyes 
wandered inquisitively from one face to the other, 
while his lips moved in silent prayer, as the big 
beads slipped through his fingers. 

The carts began to move, and the priest began 
the “ Litany of the Holy Name of Mary,” while 
we all responded. There was a linen cover over 
the cart to protect us a little from the sun; but 
soon the heat became intense, while the dust and 
flies were nearly unendurable. At last I could 
stand it no longer, and, taking off my boots, I 
slipped on my felt slippers, and got out to stretch 
my legs with the pilgrims on foot. Here it was 
not much better. The highway was thick with 
dust, and there was not a breath of air. Prokop 
was walking along, apparently undisturbed by 
his surroundings. He held a small rosary in his 
hand like the rest of us, but I did not hear him 
making the responses. Heaven knows what deep 
philosophical problem occupied his mind. He 
glanced at me out of his white eyes, as though 
he had never seen me before, and I did not 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 313 

disturb his meditations, whatever they may have 
been. 

The priest, clerks, and leaders of the pilgrim- 
age were indefatigable in their devotions. Louder 
than the creaking of the carts and buzzing of the 
flies and tramping of the pilgrims, rose their chant- 
ing voices. 

I mopped the perspiration from my face, and 
swore in silence against all house-cleaning in gen- 
eral, and whitewashing in particular. This re- 
lieved me a little, and with the little sense left in 
my roasted brain, I contemplated the landscape. 
Nothing but stubble-fields, patches of oats, and 
potatoes, and forests — forests not like ours, but 
simply a few trees growing together. The dusty, 
white highway wound on and on interminably. 
I felt that the tortures of purgatory had opened 
before me. We tramped on in a cloud of dust, 
stung by flies and mosquitoes, to the sound of holy 
litanies. We were truly an army of martyrs 
beneath this glaring August sun! By this time 
I had ceased to perspire ; I was simply baked like 
the rest of my companions. But the devout chap- 
lain did not give us a moment’s peace; with his 
parched throat, he began the “Litany of Our 
Lady of Prompt Succor.” Judging from my own 
experience, this was the litany that we all prayed 


314 The Forestman of Vimpek 


most devoutly. After a while, which seemed to 
me an eternity, the succor came, in the shape of 
an inn, where we were to eat our dinners,' or what- 
ever we chose to call our refreshments. The 
innkeeper came out grinning and rubbing his 
hands, as well he might, seeing our condition. 
Then he kissed the hand of the chaplain, who had 
just got out, and, crossing himself before our 
Virgin Mary, he helped the bridesmaids from the 
cart. 

Instead of the litany a chorus of voices shouted 
to him, “ Beer, beer, beer, little father ! Be quick 
with your beer ! ” We were like a swarm of 
locusts, devouring everything we could lay hands 
on, and as for our thirst it was not to be assuaged. 
The innkeeper and his wife, with all his half- 
dozen children, his cow-boy and girl, ran among 
us distractedly, with both hands filled with tin 
litres and half-litres of beer, and still we called 
for more. The only calm person among us was 
Prokop, who was taking long draughts of water 
out of a full bucket that he had pulled from the 
well. He and the horses had the monopoly of 
the beverage quite to themselves ; for not another 
living soul approached it. 

But there is no rest for the weary, neither is 
there for those who go on a pilgrimage to Pribram. 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 315 


We had hardly finished eating our sausages, 
buchty, and whatever other pilgrim fare we had 
been provided with, tied up in a colored hand- 
kerchief, when the indefatigable young priest who 
accompanied us (he was not long out of the semi- 
nary and had not yet been spoiled by the wicked 
world) announced that the time had arrived to 
resume our pilgrimage. 

I looked out of the window and saw the horse- 
boys almost dragging to the carts the weary 
horses, surrounded by swarms of flies. I was sorry 
for them, but what could I do ? Fortifying myself 
with another glass of ice-cold beer, I climbed into 
our cart. We recited five paters, five aves, and a 
creed. Then a happy idea seized some one and 
we began to sing what are called “ Mary Songs/’ 
hymns translated from the Latin in honor of the 
Blessed Virgin. All Bohemians can sing, and 
we sang as we passed through the town to which 
the inn belonged, while the inhabitants gazed on 
us well pleased. 

We were now passing through a more populated 
part of Bohemia, and the people left their field 
work to see us and hear us sing. The heat was 
intense; the flies buzzed around us; the thick 
dust made the air heavy, but still we sang on. 
The reputation of our town and its villages were 


3 1 6 The Forestman of Vimpek 


at stake. When we had left our bearers behind, 
and sung ourselves hoarse, the old men and women 
again began the paters and aves, and the devout 
young priest his litanies. This time it was the 
“ Litany of the Sacred Heart of Mary.” 

And here I acknowledge my sin, and publicly 
denounce my failings. I began to doze in my 
corner of the cart. The heat, the beer, the mo- 
notonous chant were too much for me ; the rosary 
slipped from my fingers and would have fallen 
in the straw, if I had not waked with a start in the 
nick of time. I cast a furtive glance around me, 
but no one seemed to have noticed my delinquency ; 
they were probably in much the same position. 
Some of them I know positively were nodding, 
Hynek among them, and from Vavra’s side I 
thought I heard a slight snore ; but I may have 
been mistaken. We all are liable to err. I must 
have dozed a few minutes, for they were near the 
middle of the litany. Then I woke up again to 
hear the clerk’s nasal voice saying, “ Heart of 
Mary, abyss of humility,” and the monotonous 
voice of the pilgrims, replying, “Pray for us.” 
Then putting my rosary round my neck, so as not 
to lose it, to my shame be it said, I fell asleep again 
for a few moments. It was not a peaceful slum- 
ber ; the wicked, so my aunt tells me, never sleep 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 317 


peacefully; but it was very refreshing. Every 
time I opened my eyes I looked guiltily around, 
to see if any one had seen me. I was not ashamed 
for the sin, but for the shame it might bring upon 
me if I were found out. But the pfarrer’s house- 
keeper, who sat next to me in the straw, was 
evidently lost in silent prayer ; her head almost 
touched her lap, not a response or a remark did 
she make, and we were all exceedingly careful 
not to disturb her devotions. At length there was 
a stop, and Hynek got out to see what was the 
matter and stretch his legs. 

“ I wish,” said the pfarrer’s housekeeper, turning 
to me, “ that Hynek kept perfumery in his estab- 
lishment.” 

“ Why,” said I, taken unawares, “ do you think 
it a likely article to sell in our village ? ” 

“ He might use a little on his own hair; he smells 
of rancid fat. He put too much on his hair, and 
now it has run all over his face. He would have 
done better to fry pancakes with it, don’t you 
think so ? ” 

I had not considered the subject before, but now 
I agreed with her fully, and said so. 

“ It was a wedding party crossing the highway,” 
said Hynek, climbing in and treading not lightly 
on the pet bunion of the pfarrer’s housekeeper. 


3 1 8 The Forestman of Vimpek 


It was a bunion that we all knew about and kept 
away from, as something privileged. 

I am sorry to say that the pfarrer’s housekeeper 
here said a number of things not generally heard 
on pilgrimages. But variety is the spice of life. 
We again began to move, and this time we started 
the “ Litany of the Immaculate Conception.” 

The long afternoon passed away wearily indeed ; 
I thought it would never end, as I sat in the cart 
or tramped on in the dust behind. At times we 
stopped to water the tired horses, and to cool with 
beer our throats, parched with dust and hoarse 
with praying. But even the longest day comes to 
an end. Evening brought relief ; and at last we 
reached Belcice, where we were to pass a small 
portion of the night. It was about ten when we 
arrived there, and after eating our suppers we set 
about finding night quarters. The Blessed Virgin, 
the priest, and bridesmaids found accommodations 
at the inn, while the rest of us went to seek such 
persons as made it their business to shelter pil- 
grims. The accommodations were not exactly 
sumptuous — a few bundles of straw thrown on 
the floor and a horse-blanket ; but the straw was 
clean, for I saw it taken from the barn. We had 
prayed so much all day, that for once we went 
to bed prayerless. It seemed to me that I had 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 


3i9 


hardly gone to sleep, when I was rudely shaken 
by my host, who announced that it was three in 
the morning, and the procession was about to 
start. Vavra, who slept next to me, could hardly 
be roused. He expressed himself in very forcible 
language as to pilgrimages, and it was only with 
our united strength that we dragged him up, and 
pulled him into the yard, where we each paid 
our host four kreuzers for our night’s lodgings. 
At the pump, where we meant to perform such 
ablutions as our condition allowed, we met 
Hynek, washing his greasy face with both hands, 
while a barefooted urchin pumped water on his 
brilliant head. As soon as he noticed us, he 
lifted his dripping face, and, wiping the water 
away with a red handkerchief, gave us the usual 
greeting : — 

“ Praised be the Lord Jesus ! ” 

Sleepily we answered, “To the end of the 
ages ! ” 

Engaging the boy’s service with a kreuzer, I 
washed my face as best I could. The cold water 
roused our intellects, and we began to consider 
where we could get breakfast. At the inn, they 
told us we could have whatever we desired, sour 
soup or coffee. They were in the happy position 
to accommodate every guest. Vavra ordered soup, 


320 The Forestman of Vimpek 


and I coffee, and they placed a large loaf of black 
rye bread between us, to which we did ample jus- 
tice. Many of the pilgrims stood about disconso- 
lately and looked at us. They were the devout, 
who intended to go to confession, and must not eat. 
Vavra told me he had intended to fast, but that he 
would “attend to his soul” to-morrow, instead. We 
had hardly finished, when the carts came to the 
door of the inn, and we climbed in. We said five 
paters, five aves, and a creed, then we began the 
“ Litany of Our Lady of Sorrows.” The sun rose, 
it would be a beautiful day, and our pilgrimage 
had nearly ended; we were cheerful and con- 
tented, and smiled at one another, as we let the 
rosaries slip through our fingers. 

About seven o’clock the carts all stopped, except 
the one with the “throne.” The pilgrims all got 
out to walk the short distance to “Na Cikance” 
(the inn of the gypsy lass). When we came in 
sight of the inn and of the few cottages that make 
up the village, the priest got out and assisted the 
bridesmaids to lower the “throne.” Then he put 
the Virgin’s cloak and crown to rights, and unrolled 
the ribbons on each side, telling the girls to walk 
demurely, and admonishing the youths with the 
banners to hold them straight. When everything 
was in order, the girls with the throne began to 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 


321 


move, the youths went after them, and, the priest 
leading, we all followed singing, — 

u Above all the Angels.” 

We stopped when we came to the inn, and such 
of us as did not intend to confess took a second 
breakfast, or lunch, if you chose, while the clerk of 
the inn went to the Holy Mountain to announce 
our arrival. After waiting about two hours, the 
watchers told us that the procession from the Holy 
Mountain was on the way to meet us, whereupon 
we all took our places. Down the dusty highway 
we saw another “ throne,” carried by other brides- 
maids or virgins, accompanied by a priest, and such 
of the faithful as felt an interest in our procession. 
When the Virgins met, the bridesmaids in front 
lowered the throne, so that the images might seem 
to greet each other. Then, the Virgin from the 
Holy Mountain took the lead, ours followed with 
both the priests walking behind, and with the pil- 
grims of both processions, reciting paters and Hail 
Marys as they wearily climbed the hill where the 
church stands, and where, it is said, the Blessed 
Virgin has been seen by many devout believers. 

As we climbed, we saw procession after proces- 
sion on the road, some coming, others going away, 
and the sound of prayers and holy songs reached 


322 The Forestman of Vimpek 


us from all sides. Some of the Bavarian proces- 
sions had been days on the way; their pilgrims 
looked pale, and many of them were lame and 
limped painfully onward. They had come the 
whole way on foot, and were weary and dusty, 
but they began to sing when they saw us com- 
ing. At length we reached the church. The 
bridesmaids carried our Virgin Mary to one of 
the side chapels, and we went in groups to look 
at the church, and see the offerings made by such 
as were healed. There were hands and feet of 
wax ; hearts of all sizes and of every material ; 
crutches ; gifts of bullets from soldiers ; little mod- 
els of everything imaginable; while, hung in the 
passages, were dreadful pictures, representing the 
miracles. The church at Pribram is in no way 
remarkable ; but it stands on a high hill overlook- 
ing the surrounding landscape, so that it appears 
more imposing than it really is. Not far away 
is the convent of the Redemptorists or Ligurian 
order, founded to provide missionaries to preach 
to poor people. They go in the spring and autumn 
to preach and confess in our towns and villages, 
almost always drawing large audiences, for most 
of them are ' eloquent. In the spring they had 
visited our town, which was the reason our pro- 
cession was so exceptionally large., As soon as 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 323 


the clerk came back and told us at what hour 
our mass would be said the next day, we all 
dispersed. Some of us strolled about the town 
enjoying the sights, others, who wished to confess, 
remained in the church. During the summer, 
eighty priests assist the pfarrer and his chaplains 
in receiving the processions, and confessing the 
pilgrims. 

All around the church were booths filled with 
rosaries of all kinds, prices, and materials ; pic- 
tures of the Virgin, saints, and apostles ; crosses, 
crucifixes, statues of the Virgin — everything that 
a devout soul could crave. There were booths 
with gingerbread hearts, rosaries, crosses, candies 
of every kind and color ; wax candles, hearts, legs, 
feet, and hands, to use as offerings. Every booth 
was crowded with people, driving hard bargains, 
calling one another names, and buying hot sausages 
from the men who went among the crowd with 
little stoves, crying their wares. Then there were 
the sellers of cucumbers — cucumbers fresh and 
dripping from the barrel of salt water, or cucum- 
bers pickled in vinegar or sliced on little plates 
ready to eat. 

There were men selling rolls and slices of black 
bread who shouted themselves hoarse calling, 
“ Little father, buy ! ” “ Little mother, buy ! ” 


324 The Forestman of Vimpek 


Farther on were stalls with prayer-books, lives of 
the saints, pictures ; in a word, there was every- 
thing. It was a babble of tongues, everybody 
bargaining or bartering, and jostling his neigh- 
bor. On the way to the town it was scarcely bet- 
ter. Everywhere sat beggars, and fortune-tellers 
with cages of canaries; Jews who sold rosaries, 
and assured one that theirs had really been 
blessed by the Virgin of the Holy Mountain, and 
were not the trashy articles sold at the booths; 
there were stalls for lemonade, soda-water, and 
raspberry syrup ; organ-grinders with monkeys 
and without them; hobby horses, swings, see- 
saws, merry-go-rounds, magic-lanterns — in a word, 
everything that a Christian and civilized public 
could possibly need or desire. 

After I had been caught by the button or 
gripped by the shoulder and harangued, and 
when my tongue was parched with answering the 
by no means flattering remarks that my refusal to 
buy their wares called forth, I got to Pribram at 
last, and entered an inn for my dinner. From 
there I went to visit my godson, and spent the 
time in peace and quietness. While we were sit- 
ting there smoking peacefully, who should come 
along but Prokop. We were not astonished to 
see him ; there never was any knowing when or 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 325 


where he might turn up. So we handed him the 
tobacco, and he lit his pipe, and my godson went 
on telling me of the terrible accident that had 
happened, not long before, in the silver mines of 
Pribram. It had indeed been a dreadful disaster, 
and we were most interested in his tragic story of 
the affair. 

After he had concluded, Prokop said, as if to 
himself : “ And one of our lads was there. Poor 

boy! even if he had stayed in his dark forest, a 
worse fate could hardly have overtaken him.” 

Then I remembered the boy Anastas, who had 
gone from among us to live with his married sister 
in Pribram. He was ambitious, and wanted to be 
something better than the rest of us. “You mean 
Anastas Vyhlas ? ” I said; “but then, he was a 
mere boy. Perhaps he never entered the mines 
in his life.” 

“ Why, I thought you knew,” said Prokop, turn- 
ing his white eyes to my face. “Yes, he died 
with the rest. He was fifteen years old, and was 
learning to be a miner ; he was burnt, or choked, 
or crushed to death with the others. I thought 
his poor mother would go mad when she heard of 
it. Poor Anastas was her favorite son.” 

Then I remembered that my aunt had told me 
something about the lad, but I had forgotten it. 


326 The Forestman of Vimpek 


“ And now his father has met with a mishap,” I 
said. “He broke his leg in the forest, a few days 
ago, so the doctor told me.” 

“ Exactly, and that is why I am here,” Prokop 
replied. “When Anastas died this awful death, 
his parents vowed to the Virgin that every year, 
as long as they lived, when the pilgrimage from 
our village went to the Holy Mountain, they would 
have a mass said for the peace of his soul. Since 
they could not come themselves this year, they 
begged me to attend to it for them, and so I 
came.” 

We smoked on in silence; what was there to 
say ? After a while Prokop took his departure 
“to visit friends of his own,” he assured us. But 
we knew better ; he was intent upon getting the 
newest news of a miracle said to have been per- 
formed by “ Our Lady of Pribram,” only a little 
while before. “ He is still sorely worried to know 
if the Blessed Virgin really appears to people or 
not,” said my godson, who knew Prokop well, 
but not so well as I did. But I smoked on in 
silence. There are times when one does not care 
to speak. 

“ Now why on earth, I should like to know,” 
continued my godson, “should such a good man 
as Prokop have neither wife nor child to take 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 327 


care of him in his old age — he who is the con- 
soler and helper of all the weary and heart- 
broken ? ” 

“ The ways of Providence are unsearchable and 
inscrutable,” I said, rising to take my leave. “God 
be with you, my godson ! ” 

After breakfast we went to the Holy Mountain 
to hear high mass said for our village. To have 
been absent would almost have looked like heresy. 
After mass we all felt at peace with ourselves and 
the world, and after having contemplated the real 
Virgin Mary of Pribram, a figure made out of sil- 
ver and richly dressed in white satin, we set about 
amusing ourselves. Heaven knows there was no 
lack of amusements ! As we were being jostled 
in the crowd, I ran against the pfarrer’s house- 
keeper, who was contemplating with apparent ad- 
miration a merry-go-round made up of small boats 
very brilliantly painted red and blue. Each boat 
held four people, and in turning round, they, were 
tilted mildly, first this way, and then that, in a 
manner supposed to represent the motion of ships 
at sea. Of course the peasants, not used to such 
motion, held firmly to the seats, while the girls 
gave little shrieks and the youths grinned with 
pleasure at their fears. 

“ It is an improving spectacle,” said the pfarrer’s 


328 The Forestman of Vimpek 


housekeeper. “ So that is the way ships act at sea ! 
Well, I am glad to have seen it.” 

The wheezy barrel-organ stopped, and the bare- 
footed boy who drove the blind old horse came 
out of his cage wiping the perspiration from his 
forehead, while the owner loudly extolled his ships. 
One after the other the boats filled, not with chil- 
dren but with grown-up people, even to grand- 
mothers and grandfathers. Seeing this, and seeing, 
too, the wistful look on the face of the pfarrer’s 
housekeeper, I proposed that we should embark, 
too. She had some misgivings at first; perhaps 
she was afraid, or imagined that it was beneath 
her dignity as pfarrer’s housekeeper, but at last I 
persuaded her under the guise that it was instruc- 
tive, and that in travelling one should improve 
one’s mind in every way. So we embarked, as- 
sisted by the owner, who in his zeal nearly swung 
us over the boat instead of into it. 

“ Oh ! this is dreadful,” said the pfarrer’s house- 
keeper, arranging her garments. “ Now I do not 
wonder that people are afraid to cross the ocean 
to America.” 

The organ-grinder began a polka, and we were 
off. We rose and sank to the sound of snickers 
and giggling, mixed with little shrieks, and on my 
part a slight groan, as the pfarrer’s housekeeper 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 329 


in her terror caught my arm and pinched it black 
and blue. While we were being thus tossed up and 
down, I caught sight of Vavra; he was devouring a 
long cucumber, and as he bit into it, the salt water 
ran down his chin and on his vest, but he was too 
preoccupied in admiring our performance to wipe 
it away. Luckily the polka did not last long, aftd 
we were soon on firm ground again. Not far from 
us was a horse “ turn-around,’ ’ and on the wooden 
chargers sat a number of bridesmaids. 

“ Look at the innocents amusing themselves,” 
said the pfarrer’s housekeeper, casting a searching 
glance all around her. Then she clutched my arm : 
“ Oh ! why, for gracious’ sake, look ! ” she said. “ Is 
not that our Hynek, flying up to heaven ? ” 

Naturally I started at such an announcement, 
and looked in the direction indicated. Sure 
enough, there hung an enormously high swing, 
and in it, holding to the ropes for dear life, was 
Hynek. His hat had fallen off and he looked 
more dead than alive ; but the energetic swingers 
were only too glad to have found a customer. They 
swung him higher and higher, amidst the shouts 
of astonishment from the lookers-on ; nor would 
they stop their swinging until another deluded 
soul proposed to take the trip. Then poor Hynek, 
giddy and faint, almost fell into our arms. It 


330 The Forestman of Vimpek 


was with difficulty that we got him to relate his 
experience. 

“ You must have felt as if you were an angel, 
Hynek, flying up to heaven,” said the pfarrer’s 
housekeeper. “ I can imagine your feelings, 
although I never was swung up so high in my 
life.” 

“ Ah, no ! ” said Hynek, his little green eyes 
wandering about over the mass of pilgrims. “ I 
felt quite differently.” 

“ How then, Hynek ? ” I "asked sympatheti- 
cally. 

“ I paid two kreuzers for that swing,” said 
Hynek, “ and I do not regret the money. One 
has to have experiences in life, and, unfortunately, 
they are generally expensive ; but when I get 
home again, I will paint a picture that will aston- 
ish you. It will set the whole village in amaze- 
ment.” 

I had not the slightest doubt that it would not 
only set our village, but the whole country, in con- 
sternation; but I questioned further. 

“ And what will be the subject, Hynek — the 
swing ? ” I inquired. 

Hynek looked at me with contempt in his face ; 
evidently he thought I had no imagination. 

‘‘An artist,” he told us, “always idealizes his 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 331 


subject. I shall paint St. Michael and the angels 
hurling the devil to hell. Oh ! it will be a mag- 
nificent scene for a picture.” 

I was too dumfounded to say anything. 

But the pfarrer’s housekeeper said dryly, after 
a pause : “ Doubtless it will be a warning to evil- 
doers. But how did the swinging make you think 
of such a subject? That is what I would like to 
know.” 

“ The trouble with you, and not only with you 
but with our whole village, is that they have no 
imagination,” Hynek replied. “To them a turnip 
is a turnip — ” 

“ And what in the name of all the saints is it to 
you, Hynek ? ” exclaimed the pfarrer’s housekeeper, 
angrily. “ A pumpkin, perhaps ! ” 

“ I was speaking in the abstract,” Hynek hur- 
ried on. “If you had not interrupted me I would 
have explained. Now, when the swing went back, 
it gave me a feeling of falling. I thought at first 
of a falling star, then all at once I remembered 
that the father of evil was thrown to the bottom- 
less pit. Oh, a beautiful subject ! ” 

At this point Hynek stopped at a stall to buy a 
gingerbread heart, which he began to eat at once, 
and we lost him in the crowd. 

“A beautiful jackass!” cried the pfarrer’s 


332 The Forestman of Vimpek 


housekeeper, spitefully. “ So we have no imagi- 
nation in our village, have we ? ” 

I tried to calm her nerves by regaling her with 
cucumbers in vinegar that a boy near us was 
selling ; so she soon regained her usual calmness, 
and we had our fortunes told by canary fortunes, 
with three lucky numbers to set in the little lot- 
tery, for the small price of one kreuzer. 

Almost all the afternoon we wandered about, 
meeting and talking now with this neighbor, now 
with that one. Jaroslav Kimperc, the poet, we had 
missed from the time we had reached Pribram ; 
but we now came upon him buying a rosary. My 
private idea is that Jaroslav, instead of attending 
to his religious duties, had gone to see a comrade 
who lived near Pribram. Anyhow, he looked 
guilty when the pfarrer’s housekeeper began to 
question him, and before he had half answered 
her inquiries as to his whereabouts we lost him in 
a mysterious way. But if we lost him we found 
plenty of others, buying rosaries, or gingerbread, 
or discussing in one breath the miracles and the 
various sights to be seen. We lost one another 
and again we found one another in the most re- 
markable way. ‘ From what I afterward heard, the 
pfarrer’s housekeeper, with her usual thorough- 
ness, examined every show and priced wares at 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 333 


every stall. I soon grew tired of the noise and 
hurry ; so I wandered off and purchased two rosa- 
ries, red and blue, from an enterprising son of 
Abraham who pounced upon me as I went to the 
Holy Well to have my bottle filled with water for 
my aunt. On the way back I bought holy pictures, 
cheap rings for the village children, and ginger- 
bread. These are things that every good Catholic 
Christian purchases on a pilgrimage. Then I 
went back to Pribram to smoke peacefully with 
my godson. 

Early next morning we left Pribram for home. 
We started, as usual, with five paters, five aves, 
and a creed. The way back was spent in much 
the same way as coming. We prayed ; we gos- 
siped when we were eating, about the sights we 
had seen ; we showed each other our various pres- 
ents and related how some dealers had cheated us 
or how we had cheated them. It was very instruc- 
tive. 

The heat was intense ; the flies buzzed about us, 
and we were all more or less cross. There were 
also several sharp word-skirmishes, but they had 
to come to an end, for the indefatigable young 
priest was always starting us on a new litany. 
People are never so devout on the way back as 
when they are going on a pilgrimage. We slept 


334 The Forestman of Vimpek 


a good deal, and were not even ashamed when our 
neighbors caught us napping. But everything 
comes to an end, and at last, late in the afternoon 
of the second day, we came to our town. From 
there we started in company to our village, and 
were met by the children, who always expect 
pictures of saints, lead rings, and gingerbread 
from the pilgrims. Of course, we had all pro- 
vided ourselves with these indispensable articles, 
and there was a general rejoicing among the little 
ones over our return. 

As we entered the village the sun was nearly 
setting behind the hills, and the sky was one 
mass of crimson and gold. As I wandered slowly 
through the forest to my home, the trees were 
alight with occasional flashes of sunlight, and it 
almost seemed to me as if I were entering some 
enchanted land that I had never seen before. 
Only those who have seen the setting sun be- 
hind a forest of oaks can truly say that they 
have had a glimpse into fairyland. I stood and 
gazed till the momentary splendor had disap- 
peared as suddenly as it had come ; but I shall 
never forget the wonderful impression. On I 
went through the dark and balmily scented for- 
est, listening to the chorus of birds singing their 
evening hymn. It was almost dark when I 


A Pilgrimage to Pribram 335 

reached my cottage; the window was alight in 
welcome. 

“Praised be the Lord Jesus,” I said as I 
entered, and my pilgrimage had come to an 
end. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A Summer Day 

I T was a beautiful summer day; in the forest, 
the ground was red with strawberries, and 
overhead the birds were singing in chorus. I 
wandered down toward the village at my ease, 
straying here and there along my forest paths 
to look at the ant-hills, the birds’ nests, and a 
hundred other things that interest me. Turning 
a corner, whom should I see stretched at full 
length upon the green moss, under a mighty 
oak tree, and gazing up into the branches, but 
Prokop, while near by Jaroslav Kimperc was sit- 
ting on a stump writing in his note-book ; poetry, 
no doubt. 

They both responded to my greeting, and Prokop 
said : “ It is the first time I have heard the cuckoo, 
and I have not a kreuzer in my pocket ; so I shall 
have no money all the year. But it would be a 
sin to remain indoors and work on such a day.” 

“ Poets and philosophers never have money, 
Prokop,” said Jaroslav, smiling, turning out his 
336 


A Summer Day 


337 


pocket that contained exactly three kreuzers. “ We 
are in the same fix, my friend, but next year, God 
willing, I shall have been appointed professor 
somewhere. And then I shall live in luxury; 
that is, I shall have the chance to appease my 
hunger three times a day, and wear a shabby 
coat instead of this threadbare jacket.” 

“You had better get a bottle of something to 
turn your hair gray, and buy a pair of goggles or 
spectacles, Jaroslav, or you will never reach the 
height of your ambition. How can you expect to 
be a professor of philosophy and eat three times 
a day ? It is preposterous ! Think how unreason- 
able you are! ” and Prokop grinned at me. 

“ I am going down to the village to see how Jan 
Marie is getting along,” I said, “but if neither of 
you has any money you will not starve to-day. 
See the wild strawberries around you ; the ground 
is red with them.” And I bade these interesting 
philosophers farewell. 

Jan Marie was sitting in the pfarrer’s garden, in 
the old leather arm-chair in which Rosalia used to 
sit. It belonged to the pfarrer, who, with an eye 
to the bishop’s visit at confirmation time, had 
bought it, second-hand ; but he lent it without 
reserve to all the sick people in the village. 

There was another teacher at the school now, 


338 The Forestman of Vimpek 


and Jan Marie was spending his last days on 
earth in one of the pfarrer’s spare rooms ; but most 
of the time he was in the old-fashioned garden. 
There was almost every kind of flowers in that 
garden, but the most were roses. There were 
roses red and white, yellow and dark crimson ; 
climbing roses, and tree roses, and little monthly 
roses that were half hid by carnations, cockscomb, 
giant daisies, and dozens of other summer flowers ; 
against the walls were sunflowers, hollyhocks, 
mignonette, geraniums, and, in a part of the gar- 
den, quite by itself, was the plot of herbs. Here 
one could find almost every herb known to the 
world — camomile, mint, marjoram, sage, thyme, 
rue, parsley, peppermint, rosemary, and half a 
dozen of others. 

Truly, it was a pleasant garden to sit in, and 
Jan Marie’s pale face had a look of quiet content 
as I opened the gate and went in. He was too 
weak to rise, but he gave me his thin white hand, 
and smiled his thanks as I laid a basket of wild 
strawberries before him. By his side sat his wife ; 
for once in her life she was embroidering in the 
open air, — a beautiful cushion “ for Our Lady of 
Sorrows,” she told me, looking up for a moment. 
The pfarrer’s housekeeper was feeding her chick- 
ens in the yard, and the pfarrer was whistling to 


A Summer Day 


339 


his pigeons, who flew about his head and perched 
on his hands and shoulder. Such a peaceful scene 
as it was, until loud voices disturbed the stillness. 

“ Of all the good-for-nothing . shoemakers on 
earth,” said some one, in a high falsetto, “ he takes 
the lead ! Here am I invited to the merchants’ 
conference in the next town, and not a pair of 
boots have I to go in ! ” 

“ It is really very inconsiderate of Prokop,” said 
Frantisk Pravda, for I recognized his voice. “ But 
can you not borrow a pair from some one for the 
occasion, my friend ? ” 

“ Who in this village has a second pair of boots ? ” 
said Hynek, and I saw his athletic form behind 
the bushes, coming near the garden fence. “ And 
if they had, who would lend them to me, I should 
like to know ? ” Hynek was no favorite in the 
village, and I thought his chances were slight. 

“ Certainly,” said Pravda, gravely, “it is very 
inconvenient. And you such a fine figure ! What 
a loss it will be to the conference ! Quite an 
irreparable loss, believe me.” 

“ I told that God-forsaken shoemaker yesterday 
that I must go to the conference, and he must 
have the boots ready. He did not answer, but 
grinned at me as usual. To-day I went to get 
them, and banged at the locked door, and not a 


340 The Forestman of Vimpek 


living soul answered. Then I went round to the 
open window and stuck in my head to see if he 
was asleep. There lay my boots in the middle of 
the floor, unrepaired, and what do you think 
happened to me ? ” 

“ I cannot imagine,” said Pravda. 

“ He must have arranged some infernal machine 
over the window that I disturbed by putting my 
head in,” said Hynek ; “ for no sooner had I begun 
looking about than I was soused with water, and 
dirty water at that. Did you ever hear of such a 
thing ? ” 

“ Never ! ” said Pravda ; “ but perhaps a cat steals 
his bit of meat, and it was to keep her away.” 

“His meat! Do you think he eats meat?” 
snorted Hynek. “He lives on sour soup, and not 
enough of that. No ! I tell you he is a vaga- 
bond ! A good-for-nothing, God-forsaken shoe- 
maker. That is what he is.” 

“Dear, dear,” said Pravda, “it is very distress- 
ing, and I am sorry that I cannot assist you, my 
friend ; but I am going to call on my excellent 
colleague, Jan Marie Koldy. God be with you, 
my friend.” And Pravda opened the gate and 
came in the garden, while Hynek strode on down 
the street, probably in search of boots. 

I am sorry to say that I grinned all the time 


A Summer Day 


34i 


behind the bushes, and, as I turned around, I 
caught the ghost of a smile on the pfarrer’s lips. 

After greeting us, Pravda sat down and mopped 
his face with a red handkerchief, and said, “A 
very energetic young man that Hynek seems to 
be.” 

“Oh, he has energy enough,” said the pfarrer’s 
housekeeper, dryly ; “ and his widow is not a whit 
behind him,” she continued. “ Not satisfied with 
the grocery store, they have opened in the other 
window a haberdasher’s establishment.” 

“You don’t say!” said Pravda. “Dear me! 
how very progressive he is. And does he sell 
much ? ” 

“ That is exactly what I asked him when I went 
to buy a kreuzer’s worth of pins, and he answered 
that ‘an oak tree grew from an acorn.’ ‘Like 
enough, Hynek,’ I said ; ‘ but an oak tree requires 
centuries, and you may be in paradise before your 
establishment is known.’ ” 

“ Do you not think it would be a good thing if 
he added quack medicines to his other merchan- 
dise ? ” asked Pravda. “ I spoke with an old woman 
who told me she was saved by taking — I think 
she said Zaludecni Kapky.” 

“ Oh, I have no doubt at all but he will add one 
thing to the other, without any one’s advice. As 


342 The Forestman of Vimpek 


you say, he is an energetic young man,” and the 
housekeeper shook the crumbs from her apron 
and retired into the house. 

“ My esteemed friend,” said Pravda, pulling a 
small packet from his pocket, “I have brought 
you a small present that I received from the 
merciful count. It is a tin box of condensed meat 
extract. It will strengthen you, I hope. And I 
have also something for your reverence,” and he 
dived into his other pocket and brought out 
another packet; ‘‘here is the cabbage seed that 
you wished.” 

“What a good memory you have, Pravda,” said 
the pfarrer, smiling, “ and I have always forgotten 
to ask you if you got the book from the retired 
merchant ? ” 

“ Thanks to your reverence, I did,” replied 
Pravda. “A beautiful book bound in red, with 
gold letters, and every one was delighted. They 
cannot, any of them, read Bohemian, but I ex- 
plained at dinner, to which they did me the honor 
to invite me, that it was a most instructive work.” 

“ Don’t you think,” said the pfarrer, turning to 
me suddenly, “that that hive, there, is going to 
swarm ? It seems to me they are too strong for 
our hive. Dear me! I must send for Jacob; just 
see how they are collecting.” 


A Summer Day 


343 


I looked at the hive in question, and it really 
did seem as if something were going to happen. 
The bees were flying about in great numbers and 
buzzing in a peculiar manner. When bees stay at 
home on a beautiful summer day instead of going 
out for honey, one may generally expect that they 
will swarm. 

We sat still and watched them ; even Jan Marie’s 
pale face lighted up with interest, and his wife 
laid down her sewing for a few moments. The 
bees were flying about, evidently greatly excited 
for some reason or other, while numbers would 
collect in masses on the outside of the hive. 

“Yes, your reverence,” I said, “they are getting 
ready to swarm. I will stop at Jacob’s and send 
him to you.” 

Bidding them farewell, I took my departure. As 
I turned to shut the gate, I could not help think- 
ing what a peaceful group they were, sitting under 
the gnarled apple tree against a background of 
brilliant summer flowers, and with bees and butter- 
flies flying about them in the summer breeze. 

On my way home, I met Katerina, with the little 
red-cheeked Vaclav on her arm. She was carry- 
ing beer to the mowers in the meadow, and she 
told me there was more hay than there had been 
for years. Rosalia’s mother was sitting content- 


344 The Forestman of Vimpek 


edly on the door-step of her cottage, her eyes 
protected by a green shade tied round her head. 
Indoors the little blond one was singing over 
her ironing. All along the village street the 
tow-headed children were crawling, and playing 
together, some making mud-pies in the gutter, and 
others playing horses. It is a good thing to be 
alive, I thought, as I climbed the path to the for- 
est. Far as eye could see in the clear summer 
air were the mountains, peaks upon peaks, rising 
higher and higher, till lost in the clouds; every- 
where stretched the forests, light green, dark 
green, according to the trees that grew there, with 
small fields, beginning to gleam yellow, between 
them, or rushing mountain streams that looked 
like threads of silver. 

Then I entered the cool dark forest that is never 
still, but is always telling of the days that were, 
when the forest owned the world and the trees 
were the lords of creation. My feet sank in the 
emerald moss, and the birds sang over my head, 
while on every side crawled or crept some form 
of forest life — the big ant-hills swarmed with their 
diligent workers ; little forest frogs jumped away 
from my path ; beetles, flies, and insects of every 
kind were buzzing and flying and in busy enjoy- 
ment. What a contrast to the winter we had just 


A Summer Day 


345 


passed, I thought, when the trees were one mass 
of icicles, and the north wind howled viciously. 

And when I reached home my aunt stood at 
the door to greet me and ask the latest news. 
Who would not be a forestman, my friend? 


















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